Chapter 20
Jake
The gala is still in full swing when we leave.
Emilia is in the passenger seat with her shoes off and her legs tucked under her and my ring on her finger. I’ve glanced at it three times since we hit the freeway. Not because I’m worried, but because it looks right.
“She’s out,” Emilia says quietly from the backseat.
I check the rearview mirror. Poppy is tilted sideways in her car seat, flower petals still in her hair, mouth open.
“She threw a fistful of petals directly at Noah,” I say.
“I saw.”
“He didn’t flinch.”
“He was holding the baby.”
“Still impressive.”
Emilia laughs. I focus back on the H-2 heading north. The city lights fall away behind us. The air coming through the cracked window shifts from warm pavement to salt and green and the version of night that only exists out here.
She’s quiet for a while. The good kind of quiet.
I reach across the console and take her hand.
She turns it palm-up without looking over and laces her fingers through mine.
She doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. Her hand fits in mine, and that’s enough.
The North Shore house sits back from the water on a low ridge surrounded by ironwood trees. It’s older than the penthouse by twenty years and it shows in the right ways. Worn wooden floors, furniture that’s been sat in hard, and windows that let the ocean sound through whether you want it or not.
My father bought it before Pacific Edge became what it became. Before the penthouses, before Diamond Head, before any of it.
He used to say the ocean didn’t care what you built. It just kept coming.
I carry Poppy inside without waking her. She makes a small sound when I place her in her bed. She pulls the blanket up over herself in her sleep and goes completely still, with flower petals still in her hair. I leave them there.
Emilia is on the back lanai when I come out, standing at the railing with her heels gone and the ocean in front of her, the gala dress looking completely right in the salt air and the low light from inside.
I stop in the doorway for a second.
She looks relaxed. That’s new. Emilia Hart doesn’t usually look relaxed.
I walk out and stand beside her.
“She’s down,” I say.
“Figured.”
“Flower petals still in her hair.”
“Obviously.”
The ocean is dark and wide, and the sound of it fills every gap the city usually takes up. No notifications. No Helen with three phones. Just the water and the wind.
“This place is different,” Emilia says.
“Yeah.”
“You never brought me here before.”
“No.”
She turns and looks at me. “Why tonight?”
I lean on the railing. “Because tonight is different.”
She watches me for a second, and then she turns back to the water. “Tell me what you want. The actual answer.”
“This. Less noise. Poppy nearby. You not looking at me like I’m a problem you’re still solving.”
She laughs softly. “I haven’t looked at you like that in weeks.”
“You looked at me like that last Tuesday.”
“You were late.”
“Point taken.”
I grin at the water. She shakes her head.
“I want to get married,” I say. “Not a production. Something real. Something Poppy can be in the middle of and Maggie can cry about and Mason can stand through with that face he makes when he’s proud of you and ready to commit violence simultaneously.”
Emilia stands there and lets me talk.
“I want more kids someday, if you want that.” I pause. “I want Poppy’s grandparents at the table. I want Hale Futures to be what we built it to be.”
She turns fully toward me and steps in close. “You changed everything tonight,” she says.
I move closer, close enough to see the goosebumps on her bare arms. “Is that a complaint?”
“No.” Her green eyes are fierce, almost feral. “It’s a warning.”
She closes the distance between us and grips my bow tie, yanking it loose. The silk slides from my collar. Her hands move to my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders with a force that makes me step back.
“Emilia—”
“Let me.” Her voice is low, rough. “I need to…Jake, please. Let me have this.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. She takes it as permission, and it is, though not the kind she thinks. I’m not yielding. I’m watching months of her control finally give way in real time.
She strips me methodically. First the cummerbund, then shirt buttons, one by one, her nails scraping my chest as she works. I shrug out of the shirt and the night air hits my skin. Her palms flatten over my heart, feeling it pound.
“Your hands are shaking,” I observe.
“I know.” She doesn’t stop. Her fingers find my belt, the clink of the buckle impossibly loud over the waves.
She pulls it free and drops it on the deck.
Then the button. The zipper. She shoves my pants down and I step out of them, standing in nothing but my boxer briefs while she’s still fully dressed, that burgundy gown hugging every curve, her hair starting to fall loose from its pins.
She hooks her fingers in the waistband and drags the fabric down. My cock springs free, already hard, and her breath catches. I watch her face as she takes me in, the hunger there, the desperation she’s stopped trying to hide.
“On the lounge,” she commands.
I sit back against the cushioned teak, naked and exposed while she stands over me, perfectly put together. The power imbalance makes my pulse kick harder. She drops to her knees between my legs, her gown pooling around her like spilled wine.
Her hand wraps around my shaft, and I suck in a breath.
“I’ve thought about this,” she whispers, leaning in. “During every board meeting. Every argument. Every time you smiled at me like you knew something I didn’t.” Her tongue traces the underside of my cock, base to tip, and my hips jerk. “I thought about shutting you up like this.”
“Fuck, Emilia—”
She takes me into her mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. Her lips seal tight as she sinks down, inch by inch, her tongue working the sensitive head. I fist my hands in the cushion because if I touch her hair, I’ll lose whatever control I’m still clinging to.
She sets a rhythm that’s torturous. Deep, then shallow, then swirling her tongue around the crown before taking me to the back of her throat.
Her green eyes flick up to meet mine, and the sight of her, this woman who runs my family’s foundation with iron precision, on her knees with my dick in her mouth… it’s almost too much.
“Enough,” I rasp.
She pulls off with a wet pop and shakes her head. “Not yet.”
Before I can respond, she rises and gathers her gown, pulling the fabric up to her thighs. I watch the toned muscles of her legs, the lacy edge of her underwear. She straddles me, her knees bracketing my hips, and reaches between us to push her panties aside.
“I need you inside me,” she breathes, positioning my cock at her entrance. “I need…”
She sinks down in one fluid motion, and we both groan. She’s soaked, swollen, and the tight heat of her nearly undoes me. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails biting into muscle, as she starts to move.
She rides me with the same intensity she brings to everything, relentless, precise, demanding. Her hips roll and grind, finding the angle that makes her gasp, chasing it with single-minded focus. The gown slips lower on her shoulders. Her hair falls around us in dark waves.
“That’s it,” I murmur, running my hands up her thighs. “Take what you need.”
A broken sound escapes her, and she moves faster. Her walls clench around me and I feel her getting close, the tension building in her body like a storm about to break. Her rhythm stutters.
“Jake…” My name is a sob on her lips.
I grab her hips and hold her still. Her eyes fly open, wild and desperate.
“My turn,” I say.
I flip her onto her back on the lounge, her gown bunching around her waist, and drive into her hard. She screams, actually screams, and her legs lock around my waist. I set a pace that’s deeper, rougher, giving her no time to catch her breath.
“Is this what you needed?” I thrust again, hitting that spot inside her. “To be taken apart?”
“Yes…God, yes!”
I yank the gown down, freeing her breasts, and take one nipple in my mouth while I fuck her. She arches off the cushion, her nails raking down my back, and I bite down gently before switching to the other side.
“I’m going to—” Her voice breaks. “Jake, I’m—”
“Come for me,” I demand against her skin. “Now.”
Her orgasm crashes through her. Her whole body shakes, her walls clamping around my cock so tight I see stars. I follow her over the edge two thrusts later, spilling into her with a groan that sounds like her name.
We lie tangled together, my weight on my elbows above her, both of us breathing hard. The ocean pulses in the dark. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my sweat-damp back.
“Mrs. Hale,” I murmur against her throat.
She laughs, breathless and unguarded in a way I’ve never heard from her. “Don’t get used to giving orders, Mr. Hale.”
I lift my head and look at her flushed, disheveled, completely undone and smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You okay?” I murmur into her hair.
A long pause, then: “Don’t let go yet.”
Something inside me aches so hard it almost feels like relief.
I tighten my arms around her, holding her closer while the night stretches warm and endless around us.
After a long while, we finally move inside and make our way upstairs.
I wake up with sun on my face, Emilia’s hair across my collarbone, and the ocean breeze coming through the open window.
I wait for the restlessness. The part where I start looking for the exit.
It doesn’t come.
I look at the ceiling. The fan turns slowly above us. Emilia breathes against my chest. The ring catches morning light.
I hear Poppy before I see her, small feet on wooden floors, walking downstairs.
I ease out from under Emilia’s arm without waking her, pull on shorts, and head downstairs.
Poppy is looking out the window. She’s still in the shark pajamas she wore under her gala dress because she flat-out refused to change. Her hair is loose and wild, with flower petals still stuck in it.
She hears me and turns.
“The water is really loud,” she informs me.
“North Shore swells. They’re bigger out here than in town.”
She considers this seriously. Then she turns back to look out the window.
I stand beside her.
The surf is running strong, rolling in with that consistent power.
Poppy reaches up and takes my hand.
I don’t say anything.
We stand there while the water comes in and goes out and the sun gets higher and the light changes from orange to gold.
This is the thing my father wanted. Not the buildings. Not the contracts. Not the empire he handed us with a vision attached. This: a little girl with flower petals in her hair and her hand in mine, watching the ocean.
I feel it in my chest.
They both saw the real version of me. Not the charm, not the reputation, the actual man underneath all of it. And they stayed anyway.
I hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs.
Emilia appears beside me in one of my old foundation shirts and bare feet, her hair still a mess from sleep. She looks out the window at the water. Then at Poppy. Then at me.
She takes my other hand.
“The water is really loud,” Poppy reports again.
“It is,” Emilia says.
“Dad says it’s the swells.”
Emilia glances at me, her expression warm and steady. “Your dad knows the ocean,” she says.
Poppy seems satisfied with that.
Emilia leans into my shoulder.
I press my mouth to the top of her head and stay there.
An hour later we’re on the lanai with coffee. Poppy is a few feet away chasing waves in her pink shark pajamas. My phone rings, and I already know who’s calling before I look.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sunday dinner. Six.”
Emilia hears it. Her mouth curves up.
“You say that like I’ve ever had a choice,” I say.
Maggie hums. “You didn’t. Now neither do Emilia and Poppy.”
I look at Emilia. She’s watching Poppy at the waterline, one knee pulled up, coffee mug in both hands. The ring catches the light every time she moves.
Down on the beach Poppy shrieks, jumps back from a wave, and then immediately chases it right back down.
“See you at six,” I say.
“Good. I’m making the lamb.”
“Poppy doesn’t eat lamb.”
“Poppy will eat what’s on her plate.”
“Have you met Poppy?”
Maggie makes the sound that means she’s already decided what’s going to happen, so I can save my breath. “See you soon.”
She hangs up.
Emilia looks at me. “Lamb?”
“She’s making the lamb.”
“Poppy is going to—”
“I know.”
She laughs and turns back to the water.
I turn my hand over on the railing and she sets hers into it without looking, like it’s automatic.
The ocean keeps coming in. The sun is all the way up now, burning clean and gold over everything. My daughter is running barefoot at the waterline in shark pajamas. The woman I love is sitting beside me with her coffee and my ring and zero plans to go anywhere.
My father built an empire and knew the whole damn time it was never the point.
I get it now.
This is what he was building toward.
This is home.