25. A Walking Heart Attack
A WALKING HEART ATTACK
WILLOW
M y head snaps up at the loud clatter from outside, jerking me awake so fast that pain shoots down my stiff neck.
“Ouch,” I groan, rubbing at the ache. Apparently, I dozed off with my head on the desk, right in front of my laptop. The screen still shows an email from the head of planning at Elixir Estates, asking for name suggestions for the new wedding estate. I’d closed my eyes to brainstorm and somehow drifted off instead.
Can anyone blame me, though? After last night, I’m barely functioning.
What word even describes it? Crazy? Wild? Unbelievable? Yeah, let’s go with all three.
God, Raymond Teager. That man. Every second of last night replays in my mind like a never-ending movie reel.
Raymond making me lose my sanity while we worked on the cake.
Raymond pinning me against the vanity table in this very room and stealing my breath with a kiss that rewired my entire nervous system.
Raymond throwing me onto the bed and delivering the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Raymond with that big, unexpected admission.
Whiplash doesn’t even cover it. Every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he reveals a new layer of himself, one that I never saw coming. It’s infuriating and intoxicating all at once. And it didn’t stop there.
This morning, I was in the kitchen, packing the picnic basket for me and Quill, all normal and innocent, but then he walked in. In athletic shorts, for crying out loud, that he’d paired with a T-shirt stretched so tight over his chest, like the fabric was working overtime to contain him.
Damn those legs. His calves were so thick and defined, they looked like they belonged to someone training for the NFL. My brain immediately served up fresh memories of him holding me captive against the kitchen counter the night before, turning me into a puddle of mess.
Raymond reached into the fridge for a water bottle while my hands were frozen over the packet of fresh cheese. Then right before leaving, he threw on a baseball cap, gave me a wave, and walked out. I thought I might combust with all the pent-up emotions inside me. I had to press a cold glass of water to my cheeks just to get my heart rate back to human levels. I didn’t even know I had a thing for sports models.
Correction: I have a big, stupid thing for Raymond Teager. It doesn’t matter if he’s in a tailored suit, shirtless in track pants, or rocking gym clothes. He’s a walking heart attack, and I’m his willing victim.
But that little confession would help no one, especially me.
I told him last night that I wasn’t interested in anything serious, and he didn’t argue that he’s up for something casual. So I need to stop thinking about him all the damn time.
The loud clanging outside my window jolts me upright once again. I slam the laptop shut and spring out of the chair, heading straight for the window.
When I pop my head out, my brain short-circuits at the sight. Raymond and his cousins have apparently decided to open their own DIY hardware store right outside the steps leading to the pergola. There’s wood everywhere—stacked, scattered, you name it—along with electric saws and drills buzzing in the air. And each of them, Raymond included, is wearing a tool belt like they’re auditioning for some kind of sexy handyman calendar.
What the actual hell?
Before I can holler those exact words or pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, there’s a knock at the door.
“Wills?”
I turn to find Daisy, glowing in a pastel green maternity dress, stepping into my room with slow, careful steps. I quickly shut the window, cutting off the view of whatever insanity is happening outside. “What’s going on out there?”
Daisy drops onto my bed with the kind of grace only a pregnant woman could pull off. She grins, clearly holding back a laugh. “Ray invited everyone over. Apparently, he needs to install some ramps around the house.”
“Ramps?” I parrot back, utterly lost.
Her grin grows wider as she points toward Captain Lick, who’s sprawled on the floor in his usual snoring glory. The lazy lump didn’t even twitch when Daisy walked in. Honestly, if dogs had a union, they’d probably vote him out for tarnishing their reputation.
“Ray mentioned to Charles and the rest of the guys that Captain Lick has trouble with stairs,” she explains casually, like this is a normal thing.
“He…he did what?” I stammer.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Daisy tilts her head, her expression far too smug. “I had a feeling you didn’t know about it. Because if you had someone doing something for you, you would’ve thrown a fit instead of just saying thank you.”
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at her. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just saying.” She shrugs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re a very self-reliant woman.”
Her eyebrows wiggle in a way that screams she’s referencing my text from last night—the one about not getting there by myself. But the joke’s on her, because this “self-reliant” woman definitely had some help last night, and she’s still recovering from it. Before I can come up with a comeback, I hear the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet in the hallway.
Moments later, Quill bursts into the room, her face lighting up as she holds a giant plastic fish toy high in the air.
Seeing her like this—playful, carefree, and every bit her age—does something to my chest. It’s light, warm, full.
Daisy opens her arms wide, and Quill scurries into them. “I want my kid to be just as cute as you, Bug,” she says, squeezing her gently.
Quill covers her mouth with one small hand, her frame vibrating with silent laughter as she wiggles out of Daisy’s embrace and moves closer to me.
“Can we go to the pool?” she signs before swishing her fish toy through the air like it’s swimming in imaginary waves.
“I would love to float in a pool right now. Anything to take the pressure off my feet,” Daisy groans, rubbing her baby bump. “But sadly, I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“Your swimsuit will be here in the next few minutes, my dear wife,” says the deep voice from the doorway.
The three of us jump and turn to find Charles leaning casually against the frame, his phone disappearing into his pocket. He’s wearing a grin so wide I almost double-check to see if it’s real. Until a few months ago, I didn’t think this man had the facial muscles for a smile, but now he’s acting like he’s auditioning for a romantic comedy.
“Where did you come from?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Hello to you too, Willow,” he says, sauntering into the room with an exaggerated air of charm. “To answer your question, I’m always wherever my wife is.”
I glance at Daisy, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Hasn’t he become quite charming?” I mutter, tilting my head toward him.
She shrugs, clearly enjoying her husband’s transformation.
Charles scoops Quill into his arms. “Can you blame me? I’m about to be a dad,” he says, his tone softening. He looks at Quill with a grin. “And you, Quillbug, are about to be a big cousin. Are you ready?”
Quill nods seriously, her little face determined, and my heart squeezes so tight it hurts. I already know she’s going to be incredible in the new role. Kind, caring, and protective. She’d be everything a cousin could ever need.
But the bittersweet reminder hits me like a cold slap to the face. I won’t be here to see it.
The work on the wedding estate is picking up pace, and every tick of the clock is a step closer to the end of my time with Raymond and Quill. I push the thought away before it can take root.
“Guess we’re swimming, then,” I say to Quill. “Let’s get you changed.”
Taking her tiny hand in mine, I lead her toward the door. But as I glance over my shoulder, I catch sight of Charles leaning down to kiss Daisy on the forehead. It’s simple and sweet, yet my brain betrays me and catapults me straight back to last night.
Strong hands. Possessive touch. Heat ?—
Quill jerks her hand from my grasp, pulling me back to reality. I look down, horrified to realize I’ve been squeezing her little fingers too tightly.
You’re going to hell for lusting over your single-dad-boss-slash-fake-fiancé right next to his daughter.
“Crap,” I mutter, dropping to my knees in front of her. “Bug, I’m so sorry. I was…just…thinking something.”
She signs, “You okay?”
I nod quickly, clearing my throat to cover my embarrassment. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Before we leave, I toss a pointed look over my shoulder at Charles and Daisy. “And you two, please don’t do anything dirty in my room. I’m running low on bleach.”
Daisy bursts into laughter, holding her belly as she shakes her head. “Don’t worry, we’re not that insatiable, Willow.”
But Charles folds his arms, his face completely unreadable as he says, “Someone definitely is. But I’m far too possessive of my wife to do anything in someone else’s bedroom.”
“God, I did not just hear that,” I groan, hurrying out of the room with Quill.
* * *
My eyes stay glued to Quill as she splashes around the shallow end of the pool, her bright arm floaties keeping her afloat as she wiggles her tiny legs. Every so often, the buzz of a drill or the rhythmic hum of a saw pulls my attention back toward the house, but the guys remain out of sight from here.
I still can’t believe it. They’re building a ramp for Captain Lick. I didn’t even know Raymond noticed that my old dog has trouble walking up the steps.
“What are you thinking?” Daisy drawls from the other end of the pool.
As promised, Charles had her swimwear delivered in record time—or rather, an entire collection of pastel maternity bikinis, each cuter than the last.
I shrug, offering her a half-truth. “Thinking about the wedding estate.” In reality, Raymond has taken up permanent residence in every corner of my mind, leaving little room for anything else.
Daisy perks up instantly, the water rippling around her as she scoots closer. “Oh wow! I can’t imagine how exciting this must be for you.”
“It is,” I admit, “but it’s also kind of daunting. I still need to come up with a name for the property.”
Her eyes light up, and she practically bounces where she stands. “What are you thinking? I really love how your grandparents named the B and B after you. It’s so personal.”
A soft smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, me too. I’m sure I’d love it just as much if it had a different name, but knowing it was named after me helps it feel like a second home every time I walk through those doors.”
Daisy pats my hand, her expression warm. “I’m so happy for you, Wills. You’ve waited so long for this, and now it’s finally happening.” Then her expression shifts, curiosity knitting her brows. “By the way, has your cousin contacted you again?”
I shake my head, my stomach twisting. I’ve been wondering the same thing. It’s been too long since I last heard from Gio or his lawyer. He fought me tooth and nail for months, yet now that the project is underway, it’s like he’s vanished.
“That’s strange, isn’t it?” Daisy muses, tapping her empty glass of sparkling water. Her forehead creases as she stares into the distance, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. Then her eyes widen suddenly, a flash of realization lighting her face before she quickly schools her features, glancing away as if she’s too hesitant to share.
“What?” I ask, my voice cautious.
“I’m just…thinking. Could it be that he’s…gone?”
I tilt my head, mulling over her words. “Why would he suddenly disappear after fighting me for so long? Especially when his claim on Gramps’s land was stronger than mine.”
She chews her bottom lip before replying. “Maybe he got what he was really after.”
Her tone is careful, but her words make me bristle with unease. What is she trying to say?
Before I can dig deeper, Quill bobs over to us. “I’m tired,” she signs, clutching her oversized fish toy while water drips from her bright blue-and-green bikini.
“Then let’s get you out of here.” I climb out of the pool first, my flip-flops squishing on the wet deck as I help Quill and Daisy out. I grab a towel and gently dry Quill’s damp hair. Once I let her go, she settles into a recliner with her book. My little nerd.
“Want a snack, Bug?” I ask, grabbing a towel to dry myself. It’s nearing her snack time.
She shakes her head, signing, “I’m just thirsty.”
“Me too,” Daisy groans, perching gently onto the nearest lounge chair.
“Alright, I’ll get us some drinks.” Throwing on my cotton cover-up, I head toward the house. The back door creaks as I push it open.
The kitchen is quiet when I step inside, which isn’t unusual, as the staff comes later in the evenings to prep dinner. But the silence leaves too much room for my thoughts. Daisy’s words echo in my mind.
Is Gio really gone? If yes, then why, especially when he was winning?
Lost in my mental math, I grab a wooden tray from the counter and start arranging glasses. When I look into the fridge, I immediately spot sparkling water for Daisy, but Quill’s favorite juice is nowhere in sight. Grandpa Will would never let it run out. It has to be here somewhere. I bend forward, rummaging behind the bread basket, when I sense someone behind me.
Straightening, I glance over my shoulder, and there he is—Raymond. Standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching me like I’m the only thing worth looking at in the entire house.
He’s wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. I can’t believe that in a span of twenty-four hours, this man has gone from wearing suits like they were a uniform to ditching them completely and making casual wear look like haute couture.
Raymond looks at me blatantly, not even trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring at my ass.
“What?” I snap, straightening fully and shutting the fridge.
He shrugs, his lips quirking into a lazy smile. “Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
My jaw drops. “What the hell, Teager?”
Before I can process…this version of him, he closes the gap between us and stops right where the tips of his sneakers brush against my flip-flops. His hand lifts, and I brace myself, but all he does is tuck a strand of my damp hair behind my ear.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
“What do you think I’m doing?” His confidence is infuriating. He doesn’t even glance at the open kitchen door, or seem to consider the possibility that someone might walk in, or care about our agreement of this…being a one-night thing.
“Raymond,” I breathe, shutting my eyes because looking at him feels dangerous, like playing with fire and not caring about the burn. “We talked last night.”
“I remember,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing against my ear, the cedarwood-and-lavender scent of his cologne invading every thought.
“And you agreed,” I whisper, gripping the counter behind me.
“No. I listened.” His voice is maddeningly slow, each syllable a tease.
What. The. Hell?
“You smell like pool water.” His face dips closer, his nose barely skimming the side of my neck. The faintest trace of contact, and I’m a trembling mess.
“I…” I start, but my throat feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Words scrape against my tongue. “I…don’t do serious, Raymond,” I whisper, clinging to the one truth I can control.
“So you’ve said,” he replies, his tone light, like I just told him my favorite color instead of firmly restating my boundaries.
Before I can fall deeper into his orbit, I push him back, stepping out of his reach. “And you think I’m bluffing.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, his smile sincere and maddening. “I don’t think you’re bluffing at all. I think you’re one hundred percent serious.”
“I am,” I bite out, forcing strength into words that feel like lies. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, not me, not you, and especially not Quill.”
“And you’re sure that’s what’s going to happen?” His expression softens just enough to make my resolve wobble.
Before he can press further, I deflect with the first thing that pops into my head. “Did you stop at a strip joint before coming home?”
His laugh is low and sinful, curling around me like smoke. “Oh, baby, if you think this is how men act after a strip joint, I think you need to reconsider your source.”
My nose wrinkles at the thought. “If my man ever goes to a strip joint, he might as well not come home at all.”
Raymond pretends to jot something down in an imaginary notebook. “Noted: no strip joints for me.”
“Raymond!”
“Wills.” The nickname rolls off his tongue so casually, I blink. He chuckles. “So I can kiss you senseless and make you come so hard you see stars, but calling you by your nickname is crossing the line?”
My jaw drops so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t hit the floor. “Y-you…” I stammer, completely at a loss, and because winning an argument with this man today is impossible, I do the only thing I can—I change the subject. “What happened with Gio?” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m anything but.
Raymond’s expression doesn’t immediately change. “He’s not going to be a problem anymore.”
My stomach tightens. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not in Cherrywood anymore and back home.”
“And he’s no longer interested in the land?” I press, even though the sinking feeling in my chest is already trying to warn me.
Raymond shakes his head, slow and deliberate. There’s a sharpness in his eyes as if he’s silently asking me to be very careful of what I ask next. Because this man does not lie and he wants me to be sure that I’m ready to hear the truth.
“And he won’t come back claiming ownership of the land or the wedding estate?” My voice wobbles. Dammit.
He shakes his head again, firmer this time. “The land is yours, Willow, and so is the wedding estate.”
I blink, trying to process his words, but my heart is already thundering. “I thought it was ours.”
His smile is lazy but warm, like I just said something that delighted him. “I like the sound of that.”
I stare at him, silently hoping for more, for some kind of explanation that will make sense. But he doesn’t offer anything more. Instead, Raymond turns toward the fridge, his movements unhurried, and pulls out Quill’s juice box like it’s been sitting there in plain sight all along. He places it neatly onto the tray next to the glasses of water and hands it to me.
“I think they’re waiting for you outside.”
But I can’t move. My feet feel glued to the tile, and my grip on the tray is so tight my knuckles ache. The weight of my questions is too much. I glance down at the tray, then back up at him. “Raymond, Gio?—”
He doesn’t let me finish. “Willow, the land belongs to its rightful owner. If you really want to talk about it, we’ll do that tonight.”
Rightful owner. The words sink into me, heavy and strange.
Raymond isn’t denying answers, Wills. He’s asking you to wait and maybe it’s better to talk later, when there’s no chance of being interrupted by anyone.
I nod, more to myself than him, forcing my feet to move. I shift toward the door but pause, turning back one last time. “You came into the kitchen for what?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. His hand grazes the edge of the tray, steadying it, before he leans down. He brushes his stubble against my cheek, warm and deliberate.
“For that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
Holy. Heck.