Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday
Nathan
I let the scalding water pound against my shoulders, hoping to wash away the restlessness of another sleepless night. Steam fills the shower stall, but the heat does nothing to clear my mind. Every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw Quinn against that rose trellis, felt her body respond to my touch, heard her gasps of pleasure as she came undone in my arms.
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning my face directly into the spray.
My cock is hard as fuck at the memory, betraying me just like it did yesterday at the vineyard. I grip myself, hissing at the contact. How easy it would be to let out the frustration, the constant throbbing need that’s followed me since I touched her again. Just a few strokes and I could get some relief, maybe even a bit of shuteye. But I drop my hand instead. I refuse to give in to these urges again—to let Quinn have this power over me even in her absence.
The water sluices down my body as I press my forehead against the cool tile. I should hate her. I’ve spent a year convincing myself I do. After what she did, I had every right to cut her out of my life completely.
So why can’t I stop thinking about the softness of her skin? The way her eyes lit up when she saw me before suspicion clouded them? The familiar curves of her body under my hands?
The memory of yesterday is haunting me—how quickly I lost control, how desperately I wanted her. And then she walked away, leaving me filled with sexual frustration and blue-balled. I spent the entire drive home vacillating between anger and desire. I’d nearly pulled over twice, fighting the urge to turn around and finish what we started.
I turn the water temperature down; the sudden cold is a shock against my skin. But it gets the job done and forces my erection to subside under the icy spray. But no amount of time in the shower will wash away the want.
I can’t deny this anymore, no matter how much I want to. To be honest, I think the truth has been staring me in the face from the moment I saw her at the convention, lurking beneath my anger and fueling my intense responses to her.
I still love her.
The realization isn’t pleasant yet, at the same time, it’s undeniable. I brace myself against the shower wall, letting the cold water numb my skin while my mind races. Despite the betrayal, the year of building walls between us, the women I’ve used to try to forget her—my feelings remain. Buried but not destroyed.
“Goddamn it,” I whisper, bracing my hands against the tile wall.
Loving Quinn had been easy the first time—she was like sunshine breaking through an overcast sky I hadn’t even realized was there. Her youth, her optimism, her unflinching belief in me —all of it had been intoxicating. I’d fallen hard and fast, letting her see parts of me I’d never shown anyone else.
But loving her now? Loving her now is complicated. It’s messy. It’s dangerous. It makes me vulnerable in ways I can’t afford to be. It makes me doubt myself, my own judgment.
And yet I can’t stop. Can’t pretend anymore that what I feel is just lingering physical attraction or wounded pride. The truth is much more terrifying—Quinn Sanders still has my heart.
I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a towel to dry off. For a moment, I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause, wiping away the condensation. The man looking back at me seems older than he was a year ago. This version of me looks haggard, as though he’s been carrying the weight of the world for three hundred sixty-five days straight. There are shadows under my eyes now that weren’t there before Quinn. Evidence of too many nights trying to forget her in the bottom of a glass or in a stranger’s bed.
“You’re a fucking mess, Knight,” I mutter to my reflection.
And I’m supposed to see her again later today. Somehow, I need to face her with this new self-awareness while maintaining my professional boundaries, regardless of how much my body still craves her or how empty my life has felt without her in it.
Quinn’s office
Quinn
“Holy shit balls, you guys did what?” Lyla’s voice rises an octave, her eyes wide as she perches on the edge of my desk. “And then you just walked away?”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips despite my conflicted feelings. “I have to admit, the look on his face was priceless.”
“No doubt.” Lyla shakes her head in disbelief. “So he backed you against the rose trellis, kissed you senseless, gave you an orgasm, and then you just…left him hanging? Girl, you are way stronger than me. I wouldn’t have stood a chance if it was as intense as you say it was.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks at her blunt summary. “That’s the general idea, yeah.”
She leans closer, lowering her voice even though we’re alone in my office. “Sweet pea, you are playing with fire. You know that, right?”
I straighten the papers on my desk, avoiding her knowing gaze. “I told you I was going to make him break first.”
“And he almost did. Why did you stop him?”
“Because I realized that if we continued, I’d lose the bet too.” And the last thing I am going to do is let him take me down with him.
“There’s making him break, and then there’s…” She gestures vaguely. “Whatever that was. Nuclear warfare, maybe?”
“It wasn’t that dramatic,” I protest even though the memory of Nathan’s hands on me, his mouth on my neck, makes me shiver.
“I’d like to see you try to tell him that.” She shakes her head with an amused smile.
“It was the strategic thing to do.”
Lyla gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me for a second. “Strategy implies you were thinking clearly. Were you?”
“I was…” I pause, searching for the right words. “Until I wasn’t. But I stopped it before things went too far.”
“And how did Nathan react when you pulled away?”
I remember the look of disbelief in his eyes, quickly followed by realization, then replaced by frustration. Damn right I played the player. But there was something else in his eyes yesterday, something that looked dangerously close to determination.
“He was surprised. Angry. Said it wasn’t over between us.”
“Of course, he did.” Lyla sighs, examining her nails casually. “So what’s your plan for today’s meeting? Round two of torturing the poor man? Because he’ll be here in”—she checks her watch—“twenty minutes.”
The faster the time approaches, the bigger the flutter of nervous anticipation grows in my stomach.
I tried this morning to distract myself by scrolling through social media. During my inspection, I saw Jonathan and Kiera’s engagement announcement had been released as planned. From the looks of it, the post had been generating positive buzz on social media. It was a relief to know there was one less thing to worry about.
I realize then the can of worms I’d just released. He will try to get back at me now. I mean, it’d only be fair for him to want to even the score. I may have been lucky that time and escaped, but I don’t know if I could walk away again if there is a next time.
When?
“Today we focus on work,” I say with more assurance than I feel.
“Mmhmm.” Lyla’s skepticism couldn’t be more obvious. “Because you two have such excellent self-control around each other.”
“I mean it, Lyla.” I stand, smoothing my pink blouse with slightly trembling hands. “Yesterday was about proving a point. Today is about Jonathan and Kiera’s wedding plans. Professional boundaries all the way. It’s why I’ve dressed down.”
“And if he brings it up? You can’t exactly pretend amnesia.”
“He won’t. Men never want to bring up a moment when they were embarrassed. Nathan is no exception.” I’m almost certain of this. Nathan’s pride wouldn’t dare. “If he’s going to pretend nothing happened, so will I.”
Lyla studies me for a long moment, her expression softening. “Just be careful, Quinn.”
“I’ll be fine. If you think my heart has anything to do with it, it doesn’t,” I insist, ignoring the hollow feeling her words create. “This is simply about winning a bet, clearing my name, and finally putting the past behind me.”
“If you say so.” She stands, gathering her things. “I’ll make myself scarce, but call me after, okay? You know how I love details—professional and otherwise.”
After she leaves, I take a deep breath, pushing away memories of yesterday and steeling myself for Nathan’s arrival. The bet, the wedding, my professional reputation—those are what matter. Not the way my body still tingles from his touch or how easily, and perhaps seriously, I considered letting him take me in that garden.
Today, I’m in control, and I will win.
Fifteen minutes later, an early Nathan Knight stands at the threshold of my office door.
“Come in,” I call when he knocks, not looking up from my laptop.
Nathan steps inside, closing the door behind him. I’m focused intently on my screen, fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to finish an email before giving him my full attention.
“Almost finished with this email to the security team,” I explain, glancing up briefly. “They’ve agreed to our proposed placement of guards at the vineyard entrance.”
Nathan nods, taking the seat across from my desk. His expression is carefully neutral, but there’s obvious tension in the set of his shoulders. I hate that there’s no anticipating what to expect from him—anger, coldness, or more of that dangerous heat that still simmers between us.
“Good,” he says, his voice sounding rougher than usual. “That will make my brother happy.”
“I’ve drafted the social media schedule,” I continue, all business despite the undercurrent of tension between us.
I’m doing good. I just need to keep going.
“If you could review the language for Jonathan and Kiera’s social media accounts, I’d appreciate your input.”
Nathan leans forward to take the papers I offer, our fingers brushing briefly. The contact, though minimal, distracts me for a brief moment. I can’t help the sharp intake of breath that escapes me, and I notice him stiffen in response.
“Your timeline looks comprehensive,” he says, focusing on the papers rather than meeting my eyes. “Though I’d suggest moving the LinkedIn announcement earlier in the sequence.”
I nod, making a note. “Noted. The business community should hear it from Jonathan directly before the press picks it up.”
We continue like this for nearly an hour—discussing strategies, reviewing plans, maintaining a carefully professional distance that feels stretched thin with each passing second. I’m painfully aware of him—his cologne, the way his shirt hugs every curve of hard muscle. Even at his shoulders when he leans forward. His voice drops lower when making a point he feels strongly about.
Then my laptop makes that now-familiar dying sound, the screen flickering before going dark.
“Not again,” I mutter, frustration evident as I jiggle the power cord and press the Restart button repeatedly.
“Still having issues?” Nathan asks, sounding almost relieved by the distraction.
“Sometimes I think it’s getting worse,” I admit, sighing as I set the useless machine aside. “I backed up all my files yesterday because I’m worried it’s never going to come back to life.”
“Let me take a look,” he offers, circling my desk before I can think to object.
I hesitate before nodding, standing to give him access to my chair. As he sits down, I accidentally catch a whiff of his sandalwood scent.
Shit.
“The power connection could be loose,” he observes, examining where the cord enters the laptop. His fingers work the connection, testing different angles.
Holding my breath, I lean over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, suddenly aware of how close this brings us. “Is it…fixable?”
“Maybe.” His voice sounds strained. “Try holding the cord at this angle while I restart it.”
I reach around him, my arm brushing his shoulder as I grip the power cord. The position brings my face close to his, close enough that I can see every striking, sharp angle of his handsome face. The slightest tension in his jaw as he concentrates.
“L-like this?” I ask softly.
“Yes,” he manages, hitting the Power button. A few moments of waiting later, the laptop whirs to life, screen brightening.
Neither of us moves. Slowly, my awareness of our proximity overwhelms everything else. As though realizing the monster is in the closet with you, only less scary.
Nathan turns slightly in the chair, bringing us face-to-face.
“Quinn,” he says, my name both a warning and a plea.
I should back away. But I don’t. “Nathan.”
“I’ll close the blinds.”
Heaven help me.
After he closes them, cutting us off from the outside world, I’m not sure who moves first—maybe we both do, like magnets side by side that are finally released from restraint. He quickly stands from the chair, pushing me up against the wall. His hands find my waist, my hands braced against his forearms.
Our lips instantly meet with none of the hesitation from before—there are no reservations in this kiss. Only hunger, pure and unrestrained. Nathan’s hands slide up my body to tangle in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. I make a sound that’s half gasp, half moan against his mouth, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
In one fluid motion, he lifts me and sets me on the edge of the desk. Papers scatter to the floor unnoticed as my legs part, drawing him closer until we’re pressed together. The only thing holding us back from each other’s heat is clothing.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper against his lips, even as my hands work at the buttons of his shirt.
“Agreed,” he replies, trailing kisses down my throat and to my collar bone, making me arch against him. His hands slip beneath my blouse, warm against my skin.
I shiver as his fingers trace upward along my ribs, our breath mingling in the quiet office. He begins unfastening the buttons of my blouse, his eyes never leaving mine, turning each revealed inch of skin into a silent confession. When the last button yields, he pushes the silk from my shoulders, letting it whisper to the floor beside us.
“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs, reaching behind me to unclasp my bra, only for me to hear a ripping sound.
The straps slide down my arms as he pulls it away, exposing my breasts to his heated gaze. His eyes darken as he takes me in; his thumb traces the curve beneath one breast before he cups them both in his warm palms. He kneads them gently at first, then with more pressure as I arch into his touch, a gasp escaping my lips.
He pinches a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. His mouth then replaces his hands, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. I clutch his shoulders, my nails digging in. The sensation is both familiar and new—his touch remembering exactly how to unravel me while all I can do is respond to a year’s worth of pent-up desire.
He kisses his way back up to my lips as his hands travel downward again until he reaches the waistband of my skirt.
I put my hands on his. “We shouldn’t—” I say, my breathing ragged.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, his voice rough as he nips my earlobe and pulls my skirt up to my waist.
Instead, I pull him back to my mouth, kissing him with an intensity that matches his own desperation. I grab his shoulder, lifting my hips slightly so he can push the garment up completely. It reveals my pink lace panties.
My fingers fumble with the waistband of his pants. My heart is pounding so loud in my ears, I’m convinced he hears it too. But before I can make much headway, he covers his hands over mine, stilling me. I look up, questioning. His gaze on me bores with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice a rough caress.
His hands guide me backward until I’m lying across my desk. The polished wood is cool against my bare skin, sending goose bumps racing across my back. I should care about where this is going. I don’t.
Nathan towers above me with his body between my parted legs. His broad shoulders blocking out the overhead lights. My mouth goes dry as his gaze tracks slowly down my body. The vulnerability of lying here, all but naked on my desk, should make me uncomfortable. Instead, I feel worshipped. As though I’m water in a desert to him. I feel…powerful.
He leans down, brushing a kiss across my lips. “I want to take my time with you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin, making the fine hairs on my neck stand up.
Would it be easier if this were just lust? If it were just two bodies seeking release? Maybe. But Nathan’s gentle reverence threatens to crack open all the places I’ve sealed shut since he left.
His mouth traces a path down to my breasts. His hands massage them both as he licks and laves my nipples into sharp pleasure. His stubble creates a delicious friction that makes me moan. Each kiss is deliberate, unhurried. I thread my fingers through his thick hair, softer than from before, and hold on—partly to guide him, partly to anchor myself in the storm of sensation.
He continues his way down my body with agonizing slowness, his lips trailing fire across my ribs, the slight dip of my stomach, the crest of my hipbone. The closer he gets to my core, the more eager I become. The muscles in my abdomen tighten as he nears my panties.
“Nathan,” I whisper, my voice breathy, desperate. “I need…”
He glances up, and the sight of him between my thighs, looking at me with those hungry eyes, sends a fresh wave of heat between my legs.
“Nathan,” I beg, “please.”
“Patience,” he says with the familiar command in his voice.
I prop myself on my elbows, suddenly needing to see everything, to not miss a moment of this. His hands slide beneath my thighs, lifting them slightly. The calluses on his palms catch against the sensitive skin.
He presses his lips to the inside of my knee, and I shiver. So close to where I actually need him. Then higher, to my inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste my skin. Higher still, until I’m holding my breath, the anticipation almost painful. I can feel his breath, hot and damp, through the thin lace of my panties now.
“Please,” I beg again, no longer caring how needy I sound.
His fingers finally hook into the sides of my underwear. I feel the slight brush of his knuckles against my hips—and then hear a small tear before they fall to the ground. I’m completely bare to him.
The cool air hits my heated center for a moment before he settles back on his knees, his head between my thighs. His hands slide up my legs, spreading them even wider. His eyes meet mine before wrapping his arms around my hips, sliding me farther toward him. The intensity of his eyes seems to offer me a final chance to stop this.
Instead, I slide my hand to the back of his neck and guide him to me.
He doesn’t hesitate as he leans his head to my sex. The first touch of his tongue makes me lie back down onto the desk, my back arching. A cry of pleasure tears from my throat, followed by a long moan. I close my eyes, giving in to the ecstasy. His mouth is hot and knowing, finding the perfect spot immediately. One large hand splays across my stomach, holding me in place as I buck against him. The other places my thigh over his shoulder. His fingers dig into my thigh hard enough to leave marks I’ll no doubt find tomorrow.
“Oh, my god,” I scream, my fingers tangling farther in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer.
He hums against me, the vibration sending sparks all around my vision. The dual assault of his tongue and the rumble of his approval against my pussy is almost too much. I can feel myself climbing rapidly toward release, my thighs beginning to tremble on either side of his head.
My world narrows to the hot, wet pleasure of his mouth, the grip of his hands, the building tension coiling more and more tightly low in my belly. I’m vaguely aware of the sounds escaping me—half-formed pleas and broken moans—but I’m beyond caring. There’s just this moment, this man, this pleasure that’s erasing the year of emptiness between us.
“Nathan,” I manage to scream out, before the orgasm takes its hold on me. It’s so powerful, I arch my body off the desk and impossibly closer to his mouth. Wave after wave of bliss crashes through me, radiating outward from where his mouth, and now thumb on my clit, continues to work against me. My vision blurs; my lungs burn as I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
Nathan doesn’t relent, not even when I tug at his hair. He holds me through the aftershocks, gentling his touch but not stopping until I’m limp and trembling on the desk.
For a moment, we simply breathe together, his chest rising and falling in time with mine. I don’t know what to feel. Confusion, desire, perhaps even anger at myself for letting him have his way with me again. And by the look on his face, I can see he’s facing similar emotions.
He climbs on the desk, leaning over me, and kisses my lips. Not with the tenderness I half expected, but with a fierce intensity that makes me gasp against his mouth.
My hands find his shoulders as he pulls me up.
“Quinn,” he breathes against my lips, my name sounding like both a question and an accusation.
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for something—forgiveness, understanding, some hint of what this means to him. For us. What I sense instead is a bundle of contradictions. Desire at war with distrust, tenderness battling anger. His walls aren’t down, but cracked, revealing glimpses into the man I once knew.
I trace the sharp line of his jaw with my fingers, then cup his face in my hands. So many questions hang between us. This is beyond physical release. It never was only that with us.
“Nathan,” I whisper, “what are we doing?”
He stills immediately, but his eyes don’t leave mine. The question hangs between us, weighted with so much hurt, pain, and mistrust.
He takes in a deep sigh. “Something I should have done a year ago. Talk. About everything.”
Could we bury the hatchet? Is he finally willing to listen? His admission makes my heart stutter.
He waits, patient despite the obvious strain of his restraint. His muscles rigid, his eyes searching. He wants me, my body. But he wants to hear my words more. He’s given me control over what happens next.
I crash my lips to his. The hard conversation we’re about to have won’t be pleasant, but it isn’t something we can avoid. I don’t know where we go from here, or if trust can ever be rebuilt to what it once was between us.
And then our phones buzz simultaneously—mine on the far corner of the desk above my head, his in his pocket. We ignore the threat of reality, lost in each other, until the buzzing continues insistently, followed by the distinctive chime from my phone indicating breaking news alerts.
“Ignore it,” Nathan murmurs against my throat.
The phones buzz again, more urgently.
“Let me at least turn it off.” I reach across the desk, grabbing the device and glancing at the screen. My entire body tenses. “Nathan,” I say, turning my body to face him, my voice suddenly serious.
“What is it?” Nathan pulls back slightly, reaching for his own.
The headline on my phone blazes across the screen, accompanied by intimate details that make my stomach drop.
“Knight Industries CEO’s secret office romance: Insider reveals how Jonathan Knight seduced his secretary.”
My blood runs cold as I stare at the words. Time seems to slow, each heartbeat a thunderous drum in my ears. I start to feel nauseated. Panicked, I scroll through the article. I need to see how bad the damage is before I let terror set in. My fingers tremble against the screen. The more I read, the more horrified I am. It contains private details about the couple’s relationship—details that only someone in their inner circle would know. Details which are worded exactly as I was told.
A wave of dread washes over me—not just professional concern for my clients, but a sickening realization of what this means for the fragile connection Nathan and I had just begun to rebuild. Whatever tenderness had been in his touch moments ago, whatever understanding we’d been approaching, I can feel them slipping away like sand through my fingers.
My chest tightens painfully as I slowly look up from my phone. I already know what I’ll see. I can almost see the thoughts racing behind Nathan’s eyes, connecting the dots and then drawing the same devastating conclusion as I did—the same one he’d drawn for me a year ago.