Chapter 25 #2
“So, one night could be... one night and one more?” I manage when we break apart.
The smile that spreads across his face is pure sin. “One more night barely scratches the surface, Foster.”
“You might be right.”
Adam’s laugh is low and warm as he takes my hand, tugging me outside the coat closet, ignoring ciders and the looks and back toward the B&B. “Come on, Foster. Let’s go.”
The Travel Lovers reviewer is definitely taking notes as we hurry through the entryway toward the stairs.
Barely through our room door, he presses me against it.
His stubble scrapes deliciously against my neck, sending electric currents between my thighs.
His hands grip my hips with possessive pressure that makes me gasp, then lift me higher.
My legs wrap around him, creating friction exactly where I need it.
“Do you have any idea,” he breathes against my throat, “how hard it was watching you with those bells? Hearing them jingle every time you moved?”
“Cruel and unusual punishment,” I agree, my fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt. “Practically a HIPAA violation.”
He laughs against my skin, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. “Only you would bring healthcare regulations into foreplay.”
“You like it,” I whisper.
“I like you,” he corrects, carrying me toward the bed with intent that makes my nervous system light up like that tree outside. “Every ridiculous, medical-jargon-spouting inch of you.”
He lays me down with surprising gentleness, but his eyes are dark with hunger as he follows me down, covering my body with his. The weight of him, the heat, the way his hips settle perfectly between my thighs. Well, it’s official: my clinical brain goes completely offline.
“I want to see you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding under his hoodie. “All of you.”
I lift my arms, letting him pull the hoodie over my head. His sharp intake of breath when he sees my lacy black bra is more satisfying than any perfectly charted vital sign.
“You’ve been wearing this all day?” His voice is rough, almost reverent.
“Hmm-hmm. And I have the red-laced panties you admired the other day,” I admit, another truth that slips out without proper vetting.
His mouth is on mine again, consuming me like I’m essential for survival. Heat pools low in my belly as his hands cup my breasts through the lace. His thumb grazes my nipple and I gasp, the sensation almost too intense, every nerve ending tingling wherever he touches.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “So fucking beautiful.”
“My vibrator never says things like that,” I whisper, then immediately want to crawl under the bed.
Adam laughs against my skin, sending shivers straight to my core. “Adam Pro has been officially outperformed,” his voice drops. “Though I’m happy to compare techniques.” His fingers trail along my pants, and my mental product comparison chart vanishes.
“Unfair advantage,” I gasp as his hand slips lower. “You’ve got... manual... dexterity...”
“Good thing I’m very thorough with user feedback,” he murmurs.
I arch into him, my hips seeking his with an urgency I couldn’t suppress if I tried.
We’re a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing, his hands seemingly everywhere at once.
Then his phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Ignore it,” I breathe against his lips.
He nods, trailing kisses down my throat to my collarbone. But as he shifts to remove his own shirt, a folded brochure falls from his pocket.
I glance down, my brow furrowing in confusion when I see the familiar coastline. The lighthouse. Wait—is that...? My eyes trace over the words Sandwich Bay Veterinary Practice prominently displayed, and a cold weight settles in my stomach. Is that his face underneath?
“What’s this?” I ask, my voice still breathless from his kisses, but with an edge creeping in.
Recognition hits me in waves. The harbor I sailed with Papet, the beach where I’d had my first scan after treatment, the town where everyone from my teachers to the local shopkeepers knew exactly what “Eve Foster was going to be when she grew up.”
Adam stills above me, his expression shifting from desire to something more complicated as he sees the brochure in my hand.
My throat tightens. “Sandwich Bay? Near Barnstable?” I search his face for any sign this was a coincidence, but that careful, measured look tells me everything. “Did you...? Did you orchestrate all of this?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he says, and the practiced casualness in his voice sends ice through my veins. “The teaching position, the practice—it’s everything I’ve worked for. And I didn’t know you were from Cape Cod.”
Something clicks into place. The convenient pipes breaking. Sally’s fake limp. Frank’s pointed comments. The way Adam always seemed to be there when I needed him most. Had they all been part of some elaborate plan? Setting me up for this moment?
“Was any of this real?” I whisper, pulling away completely now. “Or was this all... what? Some hero fantasy where you rescue the damaged nurse and guide her back home?”
“Eve, that’s not—”
“How long have you known?” My clinical voice takes over—the one Chuck always hated, the one that kept me safe when emotions threatened to crack me open. “How long have you been planning this?”
His hesitation is barely perceptible, but I’ve spent years cataloging these micro-expressions. He’s calculating what to say, how much to reveal. Like Chuck did. Like everyone who’s ever tried to manage me instead of simply being honest.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he says slowly.
“But you didn’t. Does everyone else know?” I shake my head, pushing him off me. “Sally. Your mother. Your father. Noelle. Liz. Everyone knows. Shit, Frank knows before I do.”
My mind races, emotions battling for dominance—the part of me that’s been falling for him wants to believe there’s an explanation, a good reason he kept this from me.
But the part that survived Chuck’s manipulations, the part that endured cancer treatments and learned to protect herself at all costs, is already building walls higher and thicker than before.
For one suspended moment, I’m torn between these two Eves. The one who wants to trust and the one who knows better. The warmth of his body still pressed against mine versus the cold calculation of probabilities that’s kept me safe for years.
Survival instinct wins.
I pull away. Reverting to protocol. Hands off. Heart shielded.
Even if the traitorous organ pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, I force my breathing to steady. In, out. Measured. Controlled. The way I learned during scans when the technicians told me to stay perfectly still while the machine mapped what was happening inside me.
I’m ghosting him in real time. Because keeping secrets is its own kind of betrayal. I should know. I’ve done it.
Adam reaches for me, confusion darkening his eyes to midnight blue, but I move further away. His mouth opens, closes, like he’s searching for the right veterinary term to diagnose whatever’s happening between us.
“Eve, please—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp.
Some rational part of my brain whispers that this reaction might be disproportionate.
That maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for why he didn’t tell me, that maybe I’m letting Chuck-shaped fears dictate my response.
After all, wasn’t I the one who kept the biggest secret of all from him seven years ago?
But the self-protective part of me—the part that survived cancer, survived Chuck, survived having my life pulled out from under me more than once—drowns out that whisper with sirens and flashing lights. Warning: Danger. Retreat. Protect.
I thought I’d changed. Grown stronger, more discerning. But here I am again…falling for someone who kept the truth from me, who knew all my soft spots because I’d shown them willingly. Seven years ago, and now. The irony doesn’t escape me.
After years of being the one to check for warning signs, I missed this.
Again.