Chapter 6 #2
Three days later, Sloane chose the same corner booth she’d sat in with Draven weeks earlier, the bright window light feeling like protection somehow.
Hugh sat two tables back with a coffee he wasn’t drinking, his eyes tracking the door.
Draven slid into the booth beside her, his jaw already tight, his hand resting flat on his own thigh instead of reaching for her, every line of him straining against the promise he’d made not to speak.
Marcus walked in a few minutes late, scanning the room before he spotted them, his eyes flicking briefly to Draven before he dropped into the seat across from her.
He looked thinner than she remembered, his jaw rougher with a few days of stubble, his clothes slightly wrinkled in a way the old Marcus never would have allowed.
She studied him for a moment, surprised by how unfamiliar he felt now, like she was looking at a stranger wearing a face she used to know well.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks, Sloane.” He leaned forward. “You blocked my number, changed your email. I had to hire someone just to figure out where you’d even moved to.”
The admission landed strange and unsettling. “You hired a private investigator to find me.”
“I just wanted to talk to you properly. You never let me explain.” He leaned back slightly, an old, practiced charm trying to surface, though it looked threadbare on him now. “Macy and I aren’t even together anymore, for what it’s worth. I think about that day a lot.”
“It’s not worth much to me, honestly.” She watched something flicker behind his eyes, a flash of irritation he didn’t quite manage to hide. “I didn’t come here for an apology, and I definitely didn’t agree to being hunted down by someone you paid to find my address.”
“Then why did you come?” His voice sharpened slightly.
“To show off? Let me see how good you’re doing now that you’ve landed someone with money?
” His eyes cut briefly toward Draven, who didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“Must be nice. I lost my job two months ago. After everything fell apart, people started asking questions. Figured maybe you could put in a word somewhere, since you’re clearly doing so well now. ”
Something in her chest cooled at that, the small flicker of nervous sympathy she’d carried into the cafe evaporating completely.
He hadn’t come for closure. He’d come because his own life had gotten smaller since that day in the freezer, and some petty, wounded part of him had decided her good fortune was something he was owed a piece of.
“I’m not putting in a word for you anywhere, Marcus.
” She kept her voice even. “I spent months thinking I’d done something wrong.
I don’t think that anymore.” She held his gaze.
“I know what love actually looks like now. The kind that doesn’t flinch.
” She let that sit a beat before she went on, quieter.
“He hasn’t even said the words to me yet.
He didn’t have to.” She paused. “You did me a favor that day, even if you never meant to.”
His jaw tightened. “So that’s it. You get to just sit there acting like none of it touched you.”
“It touched me. For a long time.” Her voice softened slightly, though it didn’t waver. “I’m just done letting it touch me now.” She gathered her bag and stood, smoothing her dress. “Don’t ever hire someone to track me down again, Marcus. Don’t come near my job. I won’t ask twice.”
She turned and walked toward the door without waiting for whatever he might say next, her chin level, her steps even, the same way she’d walked out of that freezer months ago. This time, though, nothing about it felt like survival. It felt entirely like choice.
Draven caught up with her on the sidewalk, his hand finding hers the second they were outside, his whole body tight with restrained fury he’d clearly been holding back through every second of that conversation. Hugh fell into step a moment later.
“You good?” Hugh asked.
“Better than good.” Sloane exhaled, something loosening in her chest that had been knotted there for days. Hugh nodded once, satisfied, and peeled off toward his own car.
Draven turned her gently to face him, his hands settling on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. “You didn’t have to say that part. About me.”
“I know.” She held his gaze. “I wanted to. It’s true.” She reached up and touched his jaw. “Take me home, Draven.”
* * *
The drive back was silent, charged with everything neither of them had said yet, his hand tight on the wheel, hers resting on his thigh the entire way.
The second the penthouse door closed behind them he pulled her into him, his mouth crashing down on hers with a hunger that had clearly been building since the moment she’d opened her mouth in that cafe and claimed him out loud in front of another man.
She gasped against his lips, her fingers fisting in his shirt, and he walked her backward toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, his hands rougher tonight, more insistent, stripping her with an urgency that had nothing gentle left in it.
He pressed her back against the mattress and came down over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one broad hand while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise, his mouth dragging hot and possessive down the line of her throat.
“You stood in that room and told him exactly what he lost.” His voice was rough, almost a growl against her skin.
“Do you have any idea what that did to me, watching you do that. Watching you claim me out loud like that.”
“I meant every word of it.” She arched into him, breathless, her whole body alight under the weight and heat of him.
“Good.” He drove into her then, hard and deep, no hesitation in it, claiming her with a thoroughness that left her gasping his name into the dark.
He didn’t let up, his pace relentless, his grip on her hips guiding her into every thrust like he intended to brand the memory of this exact night into both their bodies.
She clawed at his shoulders, lost entirely in the overwhelming weight of him, her release building fast and sharp until it broke over her in a wave that left her shaking, crying out, clenching tight around him until he followed her over with a low, broken sound against her throat.
Afterward they lay tangled together, breathless, the city lights flickering faint through the curtains, her head resting against his chest while his fingers traced slow, idle patterns along her bare shoulder. The silence between them felt different tonight, softer, stripped of its usual restraint.
“Sloane.” His voice came quiet in the dark, rougher than she’d ever heard it, like the words had been sitting behind his ribs for weeks waiting for the right moment to finally break free. “I love you.”
She went still against him, her heart stuttering once before it took off at a sprint, every careful wall she’d kept half-raised against exactly this moment finally giving way entirely.
She lifted her head to look at him, finding nothing but open, unguarded certainty in his eyes, none of the careful control he wore like armor everywhere else in his life.
“I love you too.” She said it simply, the truth of it settling warm and whole in her chest the second the words left her mouth. “I think I have for a while now. I just didn’t know how to say it first.”
“You didn’t have to.” He pulled her closer, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
She smiled against his chest, closing her eyes, the warmth of him wrapped fully around her for the first time without a single doubt trailing along behind it.