Chapter 10
LUKE
She looks perfect wrapped in that oversized blanket.
Seraphina sits cross-legged on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, her hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint hot chocolate.
Her hair is still damp from our shower, hanging loose around her shoulders.
She's wearing one of my favorite sweaters and thick wool socks.
The marks I left on her neck peek out from the collar, and I feel a possessive satisfaction seeing them.
Mine. Every bruise, every bite mark, every memory of last night written on her skin.
Outside the workshop windows, snow continues to fall in thick, lazy flakes.
The tree farm looks like a postcard—pristine white covering everything, the structures rising like gingerbread cottages from a fairy tale.
It's peaceful. Beautiful. Nothing like the dark hunting ground it was just hours ago.
I love the duality and that this place can be both sanctuary and stalking ground, depending on what we need. I already can’t wait to use it again next year.
"This is the best hot chocolate I've ever had," Seraphina says, taking another sip. "What did you put in it?"
"Peppermint schnapps, heavy cream, and a little vanilla." I settle beside her on the rug, my own mug in hand. "I used real peppermint sticks instead of extract."
"Of course you made it from scratch." She leans against my shoulder. "You can't just do anything halfway, can you?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
She laughs, the sound warm and content. We've been like this for the past hour—eating cranberry croissants, drinking spiked hot chocolate, watching the snow fall. Just existing together in the aftermath of intensity.
This is my favorite part, honestly. Not the chase or the capture or even the claiming—though those are incredible. But this. The quiet morning after, when the game is over and we're just us again. When I get to see her satisfied and happy and completely at ease.
"I still can't believe you built all this," she says, gesturing at the window. "An entire Christmas tree farm. For one night."
"Not just one night." I kiss the top of her head. "We can come back whenever you want. Play different scenarios. Try new things."
Her eyes light up. "Really?"
"It's ours, Sera. I didn't build this just to use it once." I pull her into my lap properly. "Maybe next time I give you a bigger head start. Or maybe I catch you faster. Whatever you want."
"Whatever I want," she echoes, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "You spoil me."
"Damn right I do." I tilt her chin up so I can see her face. "You're my wife. Spoiling you is my job."
She melts into me, and we sit like that for a while, the fire crackling, the snow falling, the world reduced to just the two of us in this moment. Her body fits perfectly against mine, like she was designed specifically for me to hold.
We fall into comfortable silence, and I can see her mind working. She gets this look when she's thinking hard about something—her eyes go a bit distant, her lips press together slightly.
"What are you plotting in that beautiful head of yours?" I ask.
"Not plotting. Just..." She grins. "Marveling. The tree farm exceeded every fantasy I had. Everything was perfect."
Pride warms my chest. I spent months planning this, obsessing over details, making sure every element would land exactly right. Hearing her say it worked, that it exceeded her expectations, makes every hour of planning worth it.
"I'm glad." I press a kiss to her temple. "You deserve to have your fantasies fulfilled exactly the way you imagined them."
"Better than I imagined them," she corrects. Then she gets that teasing look, the one that always means trouble. "Which makes me wonder..."
"Uh oh."
"I can’t wait to see how you top this for Valentine's Day. Give me a hint. Just one tiny hint."
I consider for a moment, then lean in close, my lips brushing her ear.
"Let's just say that by the time February is over, you're going to understand why I chose a place with wine cellars.
And why the villa has so many private rooms. And why I've been working with a very specific design team to make certain. .. modifications."
She pulls back to look at me, her pupils dilating. "Modifications?"
"Nothing that would ruin the historic integrity of the property," I assure her. "But let's just say that a 1920s villa has a lot of potential for someone with the right imagination."
"You're killing me."
"Good." I kiss her neck, right over one of the marks I left last night. "I want you thinking about it. Wondering what I have planned. Getting yourself worked up imagining all the possibilities."
"That's cruel."
"Perhaps, but you love it."
She's quiet for a moment, and I can see her mind racing through possibilities. I love watching her like this—trying to figure out the puzzle, piece together clues I've deliberately scattered.
"Is it another hunt?" she asks finally.
"I'm not answering that."
"Something with wine?"
"Seraphina."
"Okay, okay." She holds up her hands in surrender. "I'll wait. But you better make it worth the suspense."
"Have I ever let you down?"
"No." She cups my face, her expression softening. "You never have. Every fantasy, every surprise, every moment—you always make it perfect."
"That's the plan for the vineyard too." I kiss her palm. "I promise, Mrs. Morrison, February is going to be unforgettable."
"As unforgettable as last night?"
"More." It's not a boast, just a fact. I've been planning the vineyard scenario almost as long as I planned the tree farm, and the ideas I have are even more elaborate. More intimate. More intense in different ways.
But she doesn't need to know that yet.
She studies my face, looking for more clues, but I've had years of practice keeping my expression neutral during business negotiations. She's not going to get anything from me that I don't want to give.
"Fine," she says finally. "Keep your secrets. But I'm going to make you tell me eventually."
"I'm counting on you trying."
We settle back into our comfortable position, her head on my shoulder, my arms around her waist. The fire is burning low now, and outside the snow has gotten heavier.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For last night. For this morning. For the vineyard, even though I'm going to spend the next two months driving you crazy asking for hints."
"Thank you for trusting me." I kiss the top of her head. "For asking for what you want. For letting me be the person who gets to give it to you."
"Always." She tilts her face up, and I kiss her properly. Slowly. Sweetly.
When we break apart, she yawns, and I realize how exhausted she must be. We barely slept.
"Come on," I say, shifting her off my lap and standing. "Let's get you to bed."
"It's barely noon."
"And you need rest. We can stay here all day, sleep when we want, eat when we're hungry." I pull her to her feet and guide her toward the bed. "No schedule. No obligations. Just us and the snow and recovery time."
"Recovery time." She laughs. "You really did wreck me."
"In the best way."
"Definitely in the best way."
I tuck her into the bed, the red silk sheets now rumpled and marked with evidence of our night. She snuggles into the pillows with a contented sigh, and I slide in beside her, pulling her back against my chest.
"Luke?" she murmurs, already half-asleep.
"Hmm?"
"I love you. So much."
"I love you too, sugarplum."
She makes a small sound of happiness at the nickname, and within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep.
I lie there holding her, watching the snow fall through the windows, thinking about the vineyard waiting in Napa Valley. She thinks the tree farm was intense? Wait until she sees what I have planned for February.
But that's a surprise for another day. For now, I'm content to hold my wife, listen to her breathe, and feel the satisfaction of a fantasy fulfilled.
We'll explore more of the tree farm later this afternoon. Maybe play again in a few days, once she's healed. But today, and for the rest of this snow-covered afternoon, we're just Luke and Seraphina Morrison.
Two months until Valentine's Day. Two months until I show her what I've been building in that vineyard.
She wanted to be chased through a tree farm, and I made it happen.
She doesn't know what she wants for Valentine's Day yet.
But I do.
And it's going to be fucking perfect.
Until next time…