Chapter 23 #2
I swung the door open to find Theresa standing there, breathing hard. She wore jeans and a navy sweater, hair yanked back in a rushed ponytail, face naked of makeup. She’d clearly thrown clothes on in seconds, getting here trumping looking good.
She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“What is it?” she asked without preamble, stepping into the room. “What did Callum find?”
I handed her the folder without ceremony. “The news isn’t good.”
Theresa took the folder and sat on the edge of the king-size bed, flipping it open with steady hands. I resumed my pacing as she read, watching her face register each new revelation.
Confusion at first, as she oriented herself to the documents. Then, recognition as she absorbed what she was seeing. Finally, cold fury that transformed her features into something hard and dangerous.
“Eighteen months?” She looked up sharply, and I saw the exact moment the full implication hit her.
“Arthur’s been planning this since before Marco died.”
“At the Aspen event.” Her voice came out flat, controlled, but I saw the rage under the surface. “Marco was watching Arthur talk to QuantumTech. He knew something was wrong.”
“He was right.”
“Arthur saw Marco’s death as an opportunity.” She stood abruptly—the folder clutched in her hands—and started pacing. “A chance to speed up his timeline.”
“And he saw you as an easy mark,” I said.
She barked out a bitter laugh. “He miscalculated.”
I watched her flip through more pages, saw her assembling the pieces. Arthur’s communications with QuantumTech. The orchestration of his own hiring through Johnson and Haskins. The deliberate sabotage of the CFIUS filing.
“This is everything,” she said finally, sitting back down. The adrenaline was fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake. “The board will have to believe this. Johnson and Haskins are exposed. Arthur is finished.”
I nodded. “You’ve got him.”
But something shifted in her expression. I saw it happen—the strategist in her kicking in despite the rage.
“How did your cousin get this?”
Christ. I’d known this question was coming. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” She looked down at the folder again.
“Some of this is clearly public record, but these emails...” She tapped the pages.
“You don’t just find encrypted emails by accident.
Your cousin hacked into something. Or broke into somewhere.
Or...” She trailed off. “This was obtained illegally, wasn’t it? ”
“Some of it occupies a grey area.”
“Which means illegally.” She set the folder on the bed beside her. “Patrick, I can’t use this. Not if it was gained through illegal means. That makes me just as bad as Arthur.”
“No.” I crossed to her, felt my voice go hard. “Using information to save a company and protect medical innovation is not the same as conspiring to destroy that company for profit.”
“But if I present this to the board—”
“Then Arthur is exposed for what he is. A corporate criminal.” I knelt in front of her so we were eye level and took her hands in mine.
“Theresa, he plotted against Marco while he was still alive. He’s been manipulating the board for eighteen months.
He sabotaged your business deal deliberately.
And his endgame is selling your patent to a company that will bury it so diabetic patients can’t access better technology. ”
“I know all that.”
“Then why are you hesitating?”
“Because I don’t know if I can win by fighting dirty.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Marco always said that how you build something matters as much as what you build. If I use illegally obtained evidence to save the company, what does that make me?”
I was quiet for a moment. Then I said, “It makes you someone willing to do what’s necessary to protect what matters.”
“Or it makes me someone who crosses lines I can’t uncross.”
“You’re not crossing lines. I am.” I tightened my grip on her hands. “I hired Callum. I asked him to dig. I brought this information to you. Whatever moral ambiguity exists, it’s on me.”
“We both know that’s not how it works.” She looked at our joined hands. “If I use this, we’re both complicit.”
“Yes.” My grip tightened. “We are. And I’m fine with that.”
She looked exhausted suddenly, the adrenaline that had carried her here fading, leaving behind the woman who had been fighting this battle alone for too long.
“Even if I use this and prove Arthur’s a criminal, the board might still vote to sell just to get something out before it all collapses.”
I watched her sitting there, still clutching the damning folder that might not be enough to save everything she’d fought for. The weight of it all seemed to press down on her, bending but never breaking that steel core I admired.
I stood, gently took the folder from her hands and set it on the desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking up at me with tired eyes.
“That can wait a few hours,” I said, kneeling in front of her. “There are more important matters to attend to right now.”
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her—not gently, but with the fierce possession I felt whenever I was near her. Claiming her. Reminding us both that some things were worth it.
She responded immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer with surprising strength. When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“More important than saving my company?” she asked, slightly breathless.
“More important than anything.” I kissed her again, more deeply this time. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long.”
Theresa pulled back slightly, searching my face. “You flew to Scotland and back. You hired someone who does illegal things. You called me at midnight.” A pause as she studied me. “Why?”
The answer rose to my lips without thought or calculation. “Because you’re mine to protect now. And I protect what’s mine.”
A small smile broke through her exhaustion. “Yours? That’s very... proprietary of you, Mr. McCrae.”
“Aye. Do you object?”
Theresa considered this, her hands still gripping my shirt, then pulled me closer. “No objections. But I should warn you—I’m terrible at being protected. I tend to handle my own battles.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said dryly. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
The words slipped out before I could catch them, and I froze slightly.
“One of the things?” Theresa asked softly.
I swallowed hard, committed now. “There’s a list. It’s getting longer every day.”
Her eyes darkened, and she pulled me to her with unexpected urgency. This kiss was hungry, demanding. I matched her intensity, understanding what she needed. Not gentle comfort, but fire to burn away the fear and rage.
I lifted her easily, laying her back on the bed without breaking the kiss.
Her hands were everywhere—untucking my shirt, working at my belt, pulling me down to her with fierce determination.
The heat of her body pressed against mine, her curves yielding yet demanding, as if she could consume me whole.
I growled low in my throat, the sound vibrating between us, and she answered with a moan that shot straight to my cock, already straining against my trousers.
“I need you,” she whispered against my mouth, her voice raw and urgent. “Now.”
Our first time had been a sweet exploration, a tentative dance of discovery.
This was raw, primal—a storm unleashed after having pent-up fury and desire.
I stripped her sweater over her head in one swift motion, revealing the lace bra beneath, her nipples already pebbled and begging for attention.
My mouth descended on one, sucking hard through the fabric, teasing with my teeth until she arched off the bed, her fingers digging into my scalp.
“Patrick,” she gasped, her hips grinding against mine in desperate rhythm. “More.”
I obliged, yanking the bra down to expose her fully.
My tongue circled her nipple, flicking, while my hand slid down her jeans, popping the button and delving inside.
She was soaked, her slick heat coating my fingers as I stroked her folds, finding that swollen nub and circling it with deliberate pressure.
Theresa bucked against my hand, her breath coming in sharp pants, her nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
“Fuck, yer wet fer me,” I murmured against her skin, my Scottish burr thickening with lust. I slipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made her cry out.
She clenched around me, tight and hot, her body trembling as I pumped in and out, my thumb never leaving her clit.
She yanked at my shirt with surprising strength, her nails scraping my back. “Jesus, woman,” I gasped, half-laughing. “My clothes aren’t the enemy.”
Her eyes flashed, dark and demanding, pupils blown wide with need. “Shut up, McCrae. And take them off.”
I rose up on my knees, shedding my shirt and kicking off my pants in record time, my cock springing free, hard and throbbing.
I fumbled for my wallet in my discarded trousers, cursing the delay, but necessary.
I tore the packet open with my teeth, my hands shaking slightly as I rolled the latex down.
Theresa watched every move, her gaze heating my blood.
“Like that, is it?” I growled against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there as I shoved her jeans and panties down her legs.
She kicked them off impatiently, spreading her thighs wide in invitation.
I settled between them, the head of my cock nudging her entrance, teasing her with shallow thrusts that had her whimpering.
“Please,” she begged, her hands clutching my ass, trying to pull me deeper. “I need you inside me. All of you.”
With one powerful thrust, I buried myself to the hilt, her tight walls gripping me like a vice.
We both groaned, the sensation overwhelming—hot, wet, perfect.
I paused for a heartbeat, savoring the way she pulsed around me, her body adjusting to my size.
Then I started moving, slow at first, deep rolls of my hips that had her moaning with each withdrawal and plunge.
“Faster,” she demanded, her legs wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my back. “Harder, Patrick. Make me forget everything but this.”
I lost control then, pounding into her with relentless force, the bed creaking under us.
Her breasts bounced with each thrust, and I captured one in my mouth, sucking hard as I drove deeper, angling to hit her G-spot.
Sweat slicked our bodies, the room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin, her wet heat sucking me in, our ragged breaths mingling.
Theresa’s hands clawed at my shoulders, gripping my hair, sliding down to squeeze my ass as she met me thrust for thrust. “Yes, oh God, yes,” she chanted, her voice breaking. I could feel her building, her muscles tightening, her moans turning to desperate cries.
“Come for me, love,” I rasped, reaching between us to rub her clit in tight circles. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
She shattered then, her body convulsing around me, inner walls fluttering and clenching in waves that milked my cock.
She cried out, head thrown back, neck arched like a bow, her nails scoring my skin as ecstasy ripped through her.
The sight of her—flushed, fierce, utterly undone—triggered something primal in me. Mine. My warrior. My woman.
I followed her over the edge moments later, thrusting deep one last time as I spilled inside the condom, hot pulses of release that left me shuddering. “Theresa,” I groaned, burying my face in her neck, inhaling her scent—sweat and sex and that faint floral perfume that drove me wild.
We collapsed together, tangled in sheets and limbs, both breathing hard.
I discarded the condom, and Theresa’s head rested on my chest, my arm curved protectively around her shoulders. Her skin was flushed, a light sheen of sweat making it glow in the dim light of the hotel room. I drank it all in as the aftershocks of our passion still rippled through me.
“The board meeting is Thursday,” she said after a long silence.
“I know.”
“Even with this evidence, it might not be enough.” Her voice was steady, but I felt the tension returning to her body.
I tightened my arm around her. “Then we’ll find another way. You’re not alone in this anymore.”