Chapter 3 #2
He backed her deeper into the suite, moving slowly but surely toward the bedroom. Her arms were still tangled at his neck. She matched her backwards steps with his forward ones, peppering him with questions.
“I thought you couldn’t leave.”
“Nate thought the same.”
“Is he mad?”
“Ask me later.”
“How long can you stay?”
“Five days. Four, depending on what hits my inbox.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But you always know.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you if I couldn’t.”
He’d told her he’d come if the deal he was working on with Nate allowed it. But once she’d given the competition a name—Logan—he’d booked the jet.
Not out of concern. Because he knew his presence itself was the correction.
He’d missed her in ways he hadn’t let himself dwell on. Missed her voice. The scent of her hair. Having her pressed against him like this, his control over every breath she took, every sound she made.
He stopped, close to the bed. She didn’t even seem to notice where they were. She was too focused on him, eyes wide, wonder softening every line of her face.
His turn. “You went to a party tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Logan was there.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I know. But he tried.”
“Are you mad?”
Gage leaned in and kissed her. Not gentle. Not asking. Bea kissed him back, mouth parting, but her lips faltered for a beat, like she had forgotten the rhythm.
He drew back, studying her. Not fear. Not lack of desire.
Time.
Time had dusted over what they were. Time had made her uncertain, almost shy. Like what was between them was new again, instead of half a year old and well traversed.
Gage reached for the zipper on her coat. She caught his wrist. His eyes met hers, soulful dark brown.
Slowly, she unzipped it herself.
The dress beneath was red. High neckline, low back. Elegant. Meant to be noticed. And on Bea, it would’ve been impossible not to.
“You wore that tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You said you wear red for special occasions.”
She bit her lip. He stepped closer, letting the silence stretch. Letting her feel the way he was looking at her. The way the room had looked at her.
He ran a hand down her spine, stopping at the zipper. Waited until she nodded. Then he slid it down. The dress loosened. Slipped easily over her hips. He let it fall. Watched it pool at her feet. Looked at her like he owned every inch of what he’d just unwrapped.
He removed the rest. She’d never hidden herself from him. Not once, not since she’d told him she loved him. His gaze dragged over her, surveying every dip and soft curve.
He stepped forward. One step. Two. She gave ground. Backing up, breath faltering, skin hot. Her knees hit the bed with a soft thud.
Then she turned. Climbed up without a word. Sat at the edge, spine tall. Waiting.
She wasn’t shy now. She’d been waiting for this.
Gage undressed in silence. Sweater. Belt. Slacks. And she watched him—watched every inch of power he revealed, until her eyes dropped and her breath caught.
When he came to her, it was with purpose. She was already warm, but not ready. So he touched her. Took his time. Until her hips arched into his palm, thighs trembling, dark eyes glassy. Until she was whispering things she couldn’t finish.
Only then did he shift over her, guiding himself in with a single, hard thrust.
Bea gasped, the sound high and broken, like she hadn’t expected to take all of him so fast. The sound of her, after nearly a month without, pierced straight into his chest.
Then he moved. He felt the instant her hesitation vanished. Her eyes went dark. Her moan was muted but raw. Her hands searched his back, his shoulders, anything she could hold onto while her body came undone.
Gage didn’t stop. He promised he’d come for her. He never promised mercy.
Her moans broke, stuttered, fell apart. One hand fisted in the sheets. The other clawed for him, begging without words.
When her body clamped down—tight, trembling, helpless—he drove into the center of it. Took every last second. She broke beneath him.
He followed. Hard. Quiet.
All precision, even in the fall.
After, when the room was quiet and Bea lay against him, one leg slung over his, her fingers drawing slow, absent shapes across the ridges of his stomach, she whispered to him, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“You wanted me here.” He touched her chin with the edge of his finger, tilting her face toward his. “And you needed reminding.”
She flushed. Pulled the sheet higher, even though modesty had long since dissolved. “Yeah, well…reminder received.”
His mouth didn’t quite smile. But it moved.
Eventually, she shifted, lifting her head. “I need water.”
She slid from beneath the sheets. He saw her glance at her red dress crumpled on the floor, before turning away from it with a wry smile, as if it were better not to tempt fate.
She crossed the room, found his sweater folded on the chair, and pulled it over her head. Passed him his pants as she did. He tugged them on, still shirtless.
In the lounge, the lights were dimmed low, the Toronto skyline glittering outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bea padded to the minibar, pulling out two bottles of sparkling water. She took one, left the other on the coffee table, and curled into the wide sectional.
Gage followed. On his way, he retrieved his jacket draped over a dining chair, reaching into the pocket. An envelope. He held it between two fingers, letting her see it before offering it to her.
Bea looked up. Took it. Slid a thumb beneath the flap. Pulled the page out. Then froze.
She knew the name on the letterhead immediately. Monaghan & Stowe.
A firm based in Northgate, the UR’s financial capital. Founded by two women, with a particular focus on projects and financial policy that impacted women and girls.
They were offering her a five-week internship. One that started in ten days.
Bea looked at him, then back at the letter. “This is the place I wanted to intern at last year.”
“I know,” he said, cracking open his water and taking a sip.
“They rejected me then.”
“They’re offering it now.”
She stared at the paper in her hand. “You arranged this. They’re taking me because of you.”
“They would’ve taken you the first time,” he pointed out. “But you didn’t mention me on your application.”
He remembered that night. Bea had tried not to let him see her tears. It was her twenty-first rejection from an elite finance internship in Northgate, and the one she’d taken most personally.
She’d grown up in Toronto. She believed in merit, and earning every inch. What she didn’t understand, or hadn’t wanted to, was the UR played by different rules. Women weren’t seen as less, but they weren’t measured the same way, either.
Merit mattered. So did legacy. Association. Especially if you were aiming high.
She’d left his name off the application.
“What if I say no?” Bea asked, surprising him.
“Why would you say no?”
“I told my parents I’d stay.” She fiddled with the bottle cap. “I promised Claire.”
“That was before this opportunity.”
“Which I’m only getting because of you.”
“That’s not a reason to turn it down,” he said calmly, leaning forward to reach for the other sparkling water.
It wasn’t, and they both knew it. She looked away. He drank, watching her.
He was giving her a way back. One she could take without losing face—with something else she wanted waiting for her. Something that wasn’t him.
“I’d leave first. You’d still have most of a week before it starts.”
Bea’s grip on the envelope tightened.
He didn’t point out that there were a dozen ways he could’ve handled this—more direct, more forceful, more strategic. But this was the one he’d chosen. Control, wrapped in restraint.
Because she already knew.
And between them, silence had always been able to carry truth.