Chapter 14
(Aria POV)
I wasn’t supposed to hear it. I probably shouldn’t have been near his office after that cold drive back last night. But I couldn’t stay away.
Marcus’s office door was closed, but Emma’s voice carried, high, shaky, breaking on words like you can’t control me and I love him.
I froze just outside, torn between leaving and knocking. Before I could choose, the door jerked open. Emma stood there, eyes red, mascara smudged, a fury of hurt and defiance.
Behind her, Marcus looked wrecked.
“I don’t care what Mom says,” Emma burst out, turning back to him. “What’s the big deal if he’s older? Why should it matter?”
Marcus, looking defeated, voice low and frayed. “It shouldn’t. But it does.”
Emma’s chin wobbled. “Why?”
I stepped in before I thought better of it. “It shouldn’t matter,” I said softly. “If you love him, it shouldn’t.”
Both of them turned to me. Marcus’s eyes flashed warning, but Emma latched on like a lifeline.
“See? Even she thinks so.”
“Aria, this is my daughter, Emma. Emma, this is Tom’s daughter, Aria. She is working here for the season.”
“Hi,” I managed to say.
“Yeah, hi.” She said back before going at her father again. “Whose side are you on, Dad? Mine or Mom’s?”
Marcus’s mouth pressed thin. “It’s not that simple, Emma.”
“Yes it is.” Her voice rose. “You either think I’m allowed to love who I love, or you don’t!”
“Emma,” he said, the authority in his voice fraying at the edges. “There are factors to consider. People talk. Employees gossip. Partners question choices. It’s not just about what you feel in the moment, it’s about what you risk.”
Emma blinked, thrown. “Dad… what are you talking about? He doesn’t have a business or employees or partners. He’s a teacher.”
The silence that followed was brutal.
Marcus froze, jaw clenching, eyes flicking to me for half a second before dropping to the desk. He’d said too much, let the wrong truth slip out.
Emma’s brow furrowed. “You’re not even talking about me, are you?”
“Emma…”
Her face crumpled. “God, unbelievable.” Tears sprang hot and fast. She shoved past me toward the door. “You don’t care about me. You care about what people think of you.”
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the glass.
In the silence she left behind, Marcus stayed perfectly still, braced on the edge of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
And I stood there, heart pounding, because I’d heard it too. He hadn’t been talking about Emma’s older man. He’d been talking about us.
The silence was deafening after Emma left.
Marcus stayed braced against his desk, head bowed, breathing hard like the argument had drained every ounce of him. His knuckles were white on the wood.
I shut the door gently, the click loud in the quiet. “You weren’t talking about Emma’s boyfriend.”
He didn’t move.
“You were talking about us.”
His shoulders stiffened. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes dark, conflicted, wrecked. “Aria. Please.”
“I heard you.” I stepped closer, pulse racing. “You said the business, employees, partners. That’s not Emma’s problem. That’s yours. Ours.”
He straightened, towering, trying to summon that wall of authority he always used to push me back. But it cracked around the edges. “You think this is a game, but it’s not. It’s my life. My reputation. Your father’s trust. Everything I’ve built…”
“I don’t care about any of that.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, fiercer. “I care about you.”
I saw it then, a flicker of something raw in his eyes before he looked away.
I moved closer, close enough that the heat between us prickled my skin. “Emma’s right. Age doesn’t matter. What matters is this.” I lifted my hand, pressing it lightly to his chest, over the steady pound of his heart. “Us.”
He closed his eyes, a low curse slipping out. His hand came up, covering mine, holding it there like he couldn’t bear to let go.
When he opened his eyes again, the fight was still there, but so was the hunger. The want. The truth he’d just confessed without meaning to.
“This will ruin me,” he whispered.
“It could,” I whispered back.
He brought my hand to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss, so gentle, so tender, like his heart was trying to best his brain.
Then he stepped back, “I have to make this right with Emma first. She thinks I don’t care about her, and I do.”
He opened his desk drawer and held my hand. Metal glinted when he placed it in my palm. A key.
My heart tripped. “What’s this to?”
“My house,” he said, voice rough. “Be there tonight.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. “Tonight?”
His gaze locked on mine, steady, unyielding. “I can’t do this here. Not at the vineyard. Not with your father down the hall. But if you’re in my house, behind my door, there’s no one to see. No one to question.”
Heat surged through me, my pulse racing so hard I thought he’d hear it. I curled my fingers around the key, metal biting into my palm. “What should I wear?”
His mouth twitched, not a smile, not exactly, but something darker. He leaned down, close enough that I felt his breath on my ear.
“You decide,” he murmured. “Photo in my bed.”
Every nerve in my body lit up. He wasn’t just asking. He was telling me, plain and simple: I’m ready. I want you. Tonight.
And for the first time, I wasn’t left guessing.
Tonight, Marcus Hale would stop holding back.
==========
(Aria POV)
The key was cold in my hand the whole drive over.
Marcus’s house sat tucked back from the road, all wood and stone, private in a way the vineyard never was. No eyes here. No forklifts or employees or my father walking in. Just him. Just me.
I let myself in. His house smelled like cedar and smoke, faint traces of the man himself. I kicked off my shoes, wandered through the rooms, nerves sparking under my skin.
This wasn’t sneaking. This wasn’t stealing. He’d given me the key. He’d told me to come.
Upstairs, I found his bedroom, broad bed, dark sheets, the space neat except for a shirt he’d left slung over a chair. My pulse fluttered as I slid my phone from my bag.
Photo in my bed, he’d said.
Not just a tease this time. A command.
I slid out of my dress, bare skin prickling in the cool air.
Then I lifted his shirt, soft cotton warm from the day.
I slipped it over my shoulders, buttoned only halfway so it hung loose, skimming my thighs, a whisper of fabric over skin.
One tug, and the gap opened just enough to show my breasts. Covered, but not. His shirt, my body.
I climbed onto his bed, sinking into the sheets that smelled faintly of him. I angled my phone, caught the line of my legs stretched long across the dark linens, the shirt riding high, gaping just enough.
Caption: Waiting.
I hit send.
My phone buzzed almost instantly. One word, the kind that went straight through me.
STAY
Heat rushed through me, low and consuming. He wanted me here. In his bed. In his shirt.
I set the phone down, curled against his pillow, and closed my eyes, imagining the sound of his boots in the hall, the door opening, his face when he saw me like this.
Not sneaking. Not stolen. Invited. Wanted.
And this time, he wouldn’t stop.
My body ached for it, every nerve alive, waiting for the sound of his car in the drive, the turn of the lock, the moment he’d walk through the door and find me in his bed.
And this time, when Marcus Hale walked through that door, there would be no stopping.