Chapter 27
Laurel
** One Year Later **
“And that’s why Sex Activity Pro is proud to introduce the Eden line.”
The slide changes behind me, revealing the apple suction toy in a glossy crimson finish, complete with delicate gold detailing and a silhouette that is somehow both sweet and scandalous.
People gasp. Actual gasps.
God, I love my job.
“The line will feature an apple, a serpent, and all the temptation a couple could want.”
A laugh rolls through the room, followed by applause. At the very back of the room, Sin claps, smiling at me. Not Mason Sinclair, CEO. Not the man I once loved in secret.
My fiancé.
He’s leaning against the back wall in a dark suit, no tie, his hair down because I’ve told him repeatedly that I like having something to pull. He pretends that isn’t why he wears it that way now.
The ring on my finger catches the stage lights, throwing a small flash of fire across the podium.
A year ago, I stood in Amsterdam and told myself wanting him would ruin me.
Now I’m standing in Amsterdam with his ring on my hand and a room full of people applauding the product line I built after walking through the wreckage.
Life is stupid. Beautiful, occasionally. But mostly stupid.
I smile back at him and his expression changes. It’s subtle. Most people would miss it. I don’t. Then his gaze drops to my hand, to the ring, and when his eyes return to mine, the heat there is unmistakable. My pulse stutters.
Sir. We are at a professional event. In front of several hundred people. Including two journalists, three distributors, and a very enthusiastic French buyer who has already asked if the serpent model comes in emerald. This is not the time.
Sin’s mouth curves like he can hear every thought in my head.
I turn back to the audience before my face betrays me completely.
“We wanted Eden to explore temptation without shame,” I continue. “Pleasure as curiosity. Desire as discovery. The idea that wanting doesn’t have to be hidden in the dark to be powerful.”
My voice catches slightly on the last line. But Sin hears it. I know he does.
Because he straightens from the wall and because we both know Amsterdam was once the dark. A line we crossed and crossed and crossed until there was no going back.
Now, the lights are bright. My name is on the screen. His ring is on my finger. And wanting him no longer feels like something I have to survive.
When the presentation ends, the applause is loud enough that I stand there for a second, stunned.
“Thank you,” I say, laughing softly. “We’ll be taking questions after the product showcase.”
The moment I step offstage, people surround me. I answer questions about materials, suction settings, waterproof ratings, packaging, preorders, international release windows, and whether the serpent will have a couples-mode app integration. It will, obviously, because I’m a genius.
Through all of it, I feel Sin watching me. Just there. Supportive and proud. That might be the sexiest thing about him now. And considering the man can make rolling up his sleeves feel like a felony, that’s saying something.
When the crowd finally thins, I find him near the champagne table, talking to a Dutch distributor like he hasn’t been staring at me all evening with the kind of expression that should come with a curtain and a warning label.
He sees me approaching and immediately stops listening to whoever is speaking. The distributor follows his gaze, smiles knowingly, and excuses himself.
Sin doesn’t look away from me.
“Well?” I ask.
He steps closer. “You were incredible.”
My chest warms. “One of your more original reviews.”
“You were brilliant.”
“Keep going.”
“Sexy.”
I point at him. “There he is.”
His smile deepens. “You asked.”
“I asked for professional praise.”
“I’m professionally attracted to you.”
I snort. “That is absolutely going in your vows.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I already wrote my vows.”
My heart does something unfair. “You did?”
“Yes.”
His hand finds mine, thumb brushing the ring he put there three months ago in our kitchen while I was wearing pajamas and threatening Claudia the plant with relocation because she kept dropping leaves on my windowsill. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was perfect.
He’d gotten down on one knee beside an open box of takeout and said, “I want ordinary with you for the rest of my life.”
I cried into pad Thai
Now he lifts my hand and kisses the ring right there in public.
My throat tightens.
“You’re doing that thing,” he says.
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like you’re about to cry and make a joke to hide it.”
“I would never.”
“Laurel.”
“Fine. I was deciding whether crying at an adult products expo is chic or alarming.”
“Both.”
“That tracks.”
His mouth curves, but his eyes stay soft. “I’m proud of you.”
The words settle into me. Even after all this time, those words from him still find the tender places.
“Thank you.”
“And I want to leave.”
I blink. The warmth vanishes, replaced by immediate suspicion. “Leave?”
“Yes.”
“Sin, the reception started twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“There are people here who flew in to meet me.”
“They met you.”
“There’s a champagne toast at nine.”
“I’ll send a bottle to our room.”
“Our room?” I repeat, even though I know exactly where this is going.
His thumb brushes my ring again. “One room. One bed. Remember?”
My entire body remembers. Amsterdam. The first hotel. The forbidden heat. The way everything started with guilt and want and a door clicking shut. My breath catches.
His expression shifts from teasing to something darker.
“Come upstairs with me,” he says.
My pulse jumps but I glance around the room. “We can’t just leave my own launch event.”
“Yes, we can.”
“That is very CEO of you.”
“I’m not the CEO here.”
“No. You’re just the fiancé trying to lure me away from professional responsibilities with one-room nostalgia.”
His gaze drops over me slowly. When his eyes come back to mine, they are dark enough to make the noise of the reception fade.
“I’m not trying,” he says. “I’m succeeding.”
I tell my team I’ll be back in half an hour while Sin coughs into his champagne. I glare at him.
We make it to the elevator without touching. The second the doors close, I turn on him.
“Half an hour,” I say.
He steps closer. “One hour.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Two.”
“That is not how negotiation works.”
His hand slides around my waist, pulling me into him. “It is when I’m very motivated.”
My palms flatten against his chest. The elevator begins to rise. We stare at each other in the mirrored walls, polished and composed and engaged like respectable adults. Then his mouth lowers to my ear.
“I have been watching you own that room for the past hour,” he says quietly. “Watching everyone see what I’ve always known.”
My breath catches.
“You’re brilliant. Confident. Mine only because you choose to be.” His lips brush just below my ear. “And all I’ve been able to think about is getting you alone.”
Heat blooms low in my stomach. “Sin.”
His hand flexes at my waist. “I love when you say my name like that.”
“You love when I say your name in general.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest now.”
His mouth curves against my skin. “I learned from the best.”
The elevator dings. We separate immediately because, tragically, cameras exist. The hallway is empty.
Our suite is at the end of the corridor, because Sin still books rooms like privacy is a sport he intends to medal in.
He opens the door and I step inside. The room is all glass, warm light, and Amsterdam glowing beyond the windows.
Canal water dark below. City lights soft and gold.
A massive bed turned down with white linens.
One bed.
No pillow wall.
No guilt sitting at the foot of it.
No ring on a nightstand.
This time, the ring stays on my hand.
Sin closes the door behind us. The lock clicks. The sound rolls through me like memory. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I turn to him.
“This is where everything started,” I say.
His expression softens. “Not everything.”
“No?”
“No.” He comes toward me slowly. “It started before Amsterdam.”
My chest tightens. He stops in front of me and brushes his fingers over my cheek.
“Amsterdam is where we stopped lying badly.”
A laugh escapes me.
“Badly?”
“Terribly.”
His thumb grazes my lower lip.
“Tonight,” he says, “I want to replace every bad memory in this city.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I’m a motivated man.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He leans in, stopping just short of my mouth. “Tell me yes.”
Still after a year, and a ring, and every night he has touched me with care and heat and devotion he still asks.
“Yes.”
His mouth covers mine. The kiss is open from the first breath. Open mouth, full heat, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands pull me flush to him. The sound I make is swallowed by him, and he groans like he has been starving since the ballroom.
Maybe since this morning.
Maybe since the first time.
His hands slide down my back, over my hips, gripping me through the sleek black dress.
“This dress,” he says against my mouth.
“You like it?”
“I hate it.”
I laugh. “That’s confusing.”
“It kept you from me all evening.”
“That was sort of the point of clothing.”
“Terrible invention.”
He kisses me again, deeper, walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I expect him to unzip me. Instead, he drops to his knees. My breath stops. He looks up at me from there, hands sliding up the backs of my calves, over my thighs, beneath the hem of my dress.
“Sin.”
“Half an hour,” he reminds me.
The bastard. Then his mouth is on my thigh, and every clever thought I’ve ever had dies instantly.