Chapter 24
Cillian
I swing open the door and Margot practically explodes inside, her energy as infectious as it is uncontainable.
"Cillian, you won't believe it!" she cries out, stumbling slightly under the weight of a gargantuan pile of ring binders and tabbed planners.
"And what happened?" I catch her before she topples, pulling her in for a lingering kiss while I wrestle the heavy stack from her arms and drop it onto the island. "Jesus, Ace, what have you got in here? Bricks?"
"Careful with those. That's years of work.
" She catches her breath, beaming at the heap like a proud mother.
"Diane's vineyard notes, tasting sheets, soil reports.
I couldn't stand having it scattered everywhere anymore, so I'm consolidating everything into one master system.
I was mid-organizing when I left, and I figured I'd keep going here tonight. Fair warning."
I trace the edge of a particularly thick folder. "Doubles as a lethal bludgeon too, I'd wager."
"Yes, it does, so watch it," she says, her grin turning wicked as she brushes a loose strand of hair from her face.
"Alright, spill. What happened today?" I ask.
"Carol called me in this morning," she says. "Apparently the sales numbers for the new label are so strong that they want to expand the range and make it my primary focus. Way less time managing entitled clients and more time actually building the project!"
"Congratulations, love." I pull her against me, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know how much you prefer working on the wine side of things to the corporate headache."
"I know! It's just so exciting. I mean, I don't mind the client relations, but getting to expand the affordable range? It's a dream. Diane's thrilled too; we already started sketching ideas. It's a years-long project, so we get to start planning now, but I can't wait."
She gets animated when she's excited about something, her hands moving in rapid, graceful gestures as she talks, and the effect is adorable and intoxicating in roughly equal measure. I could listen to her talk about her passions for hours, I think, and never get bored of the sound.
"That’s amazing, Ace. I can’t wait to see what you two dream up," I say, stepping into the kitchen. I snag a bottle of her favorite Solstice sparkling, the bubbles dancing in the light as I pour us each a glass and lift mine toward her.
"A toast to you, Ace." I hold her gaze across the island. "The cleverest, most hardworking, and organized woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."
She smiles, her eyes shimmering in the lamplight as she holds the glass up. "Thanks. Impressed by my color-coded folders, huh?"
"I'm captivated," I murmur, pulling her in for a kiss, her lips holding a sweet trace of the vanilla lip balm she always uses, matching the perfume that always gets right under my skin.
"We’ll have to celebrate properly the second we both have some free time.
I mean, we're technically in hiding for a bit longer, but we can have a discreet dinner. Or fly anywhere nice for a trip."
She sips her wine and considers. "You know, Sabrina pointed out I’m not taking advantage of the fact that you’re one of the rich elite. Perhaps I should be booking more flights to exotic locations."
I laugh and pull her closer. "Wherever you like."
“Dinner sounds lovely.” She laughs softly. "It’ll have to be booked like a month from now to fit in the schedule, but I’d love that."
"I’m so proud of you, Margot,” I say. “I know how much work you put into this project."
"Well," she says, nodding smugly. "That's true, I do. And thanks to you for, you know, promoting it so effectively. I mean the sales are crazy. I don't think either of us could have predicted back at the start how thrilled I'd be to have your face on my passion project."
"Is that right?" I give her ass a playful swat. "You know, a successful launch and sleeping with the ambassador? I’d say your client relations skills have reached elite levels."
She giggles. "Shut your mouth, you absolute ass!"
I pull her in for another kiss, tasting the sparkling wine on her tongue, and we slowly make our way to the couch. The windows are dark, the city glittering away below us in the night, and she snuggles in against me on the couch, her head finding its usual spot against my chest.
"Oh! I almost forgot." She pulls back just enough to look at me, a playful spark in her gaze. "I survived my first proper boxing class today. It was amazing. I even learned how to throw a hook."
"Of course you did." The laugh rumbles out of me. "God help the heavy bag. Show me."
"What, now?" She shifts her weight, looking slightly dubious.
"Aye, now," I nod, motioning her to stand.
She sets her glass down with exaggerated care, stands up in front of me, and squares her shoulders. She throws the world's most methodical hook in slow motion, with textbook form and zero malice, and I reach up to catch her fist in my palm like a mitt and kiss her knuckles.
"Deadly," I declare. "I suspect the heavy bag never stood a chance."
"Watch out world, one more douchey rich guy at work and I'm going to floor him." She's laughing as she retrieves her wine and sits back down. "It's a blast. Thanks for the rage room epiphany, by the way. I never realized how much I actually enjoyed hitting things."
"Happy to have corrupted you." I wind a loose strand of her hair around my finger. "We'll have to go again next time we're in Dublin."
"I'd love that," she says, her voice softening. "Helps get out some of the... well, you know. Any and all pent-up frustration."
"Speaking of, how did things go with your parents and your dad’s doctor appointment?"
"Good. Things are actually fine right now.
And his knee appointment went great." She exhales a slow, steady breath.
"I really don't mind helping with things like that; it's just sometimes the guilt-tripping and the mediator role for their marriage gets exhausting.
But I think that text got through to them.
I still feel a bit bad, but they seemed totally fine.
They even organized the follow-up themselves, and I told them I don't mind helping with those kinds of logistics! "
"Well, that's a grand start. I think you've built a slightly healthier parent-child dynamic." I nod slowly. "You did the right thing, Ace."
She lets out a light, relieved laugh. "Well, we'll just see how it goes."
"So when does the whole new-label timeline actually kick off?" I ask, taking a sip.
"Oh, ages from now. A project like this takes years to build properly," she says, her hands moving in those rapid, graceful gestures. "But god, the work is so fulfilling. I don't think I've ever been this excited about anything."
I smile down at her, and she looks up at me, biting her lip while her gaze goes heavy and dark.
I lean in and capture her mouth, sliding our glasses onto the coffee table without looking, and the kiss goes deep fast. She makes a soft, needy sound, and then she's shifting, climbing over my lap until she's straddling my thighs, and any thought of being a gentleman evaporates instantly.
"Well, hello," I rasp against her lips.
"Hi." She kisses me once more, a slow, lingering press that steals my next breath. Her fingers tug at the fabric of my shirt, hauling me closer, and the confidence radiating off her has me completely under her spell.
Then she sits back, knees on either side of me, and reaches for the hem of her dress. She pulls it up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing the fabric somewhere into the shadows, and underneath she's wearing a matching set of dark blue lace I've never seen before.
My brain goes dead quiet.
"Fuck, Ace." My palms find her waist instinctively. "When did you get this?"
"I bought it specifically for you." She sinks back down against me, slow and deliberate, and rolls her hips. "I take it you approve?"
"I've never seen anything as perfect," I manage. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
"I felt like being a bit bold tonight." She braces her hands on my shoulders, her chin lifted in a challenge. "And I've decided that I'm the one in charge."
I arch a brow, even as the movement of her hips makes it impossible to think straight. "Oh? You think you can just take charge that easily? I had the impression you liked me throwing you around a bit."
Her fingers trail down my chest, feather-light, tracing the line of my collar. I reach for her, and she catches my wrist and firmly pins my hand back to the cushion.
"Behave yourself." A slow, wicked grin spreads across her face. "I do enjoy that, don't get me wrong. But tonight, I'm the one calling the shots."
She grinds down harder, and I can't stop my grip from tightening on her, my whole frame straining toward hers, and she feels it—the physical proof of how easily she's winning. She brings a hand up to cup my jaw, tilting my face to hers, and I surrender to it.
"I suspect," she murmurs, her lips brushing against mine, "that you're about to start begging. And I don't intend to show you much mercy."
I let out a low groan, the air in the small room feeling thick and electric, and I smile up at her with my breath hitching. "Is that so?" I ask, my voice dropping to a gravelly rasp.
"Mm." She sits back, cool as anything, and something in my expression must give me away, because her smile turns triumphant. "Now. Take your clothes off."
I hold her gaze and surrender without a fight. "As you wish."
God help me, I've never taken an order so gladly in my life.
Practice runs long, a hard session with the Final bearing down on us, and my body is aching by the time Whelan finally blows the whistle on us.
It took six games to put Seattle away, every one of them a war, but the West is ours now, and Margot watched us finish it from a secret suite above the ice, which might be my favorite thing of the entire round.
One series left in the season. The Stanley Cup Final, us against New York, opening on our home ice in four days.
Best of seven, first team to four wins takes the Cup, and that simple, brutal math is all that's left between me and the thing I've chased since I was eight years old.
New York means Brennan, of course. The universe wouldn't have it any other way.
Mam and Dad are already looking into flights to make sure they're in the stands if we clinch it, and I'm hoping my sisters can swing the time off work to join them. We're so fucking close I can taste it.
I'm more or less the last man left in the room, enjoying the rare stretch of quiet while the rest of the lads head out for food, when the door swings open. I look up to find Jonesy and Betts practically sprinting back inside, their expressions tight with concern.
"Cillian, have you checked your phone yet?" Jonesy asks, his voice laced with the kind of urgent concern that makes my stomach do a slow roll.
I frown, reaching for my laces. "No, why? I thought you two were halfway to the car."
They both look breathless, and Betts is the one who finally spits it out. "We ran back in because the story just broke. The media leaked that you're with Margot. They've got photos of the two of you together, Cillian. It's everywhere."
Something cold jolts down my spine. I lunge for my phone in the bottom of my bag, and it's already a war zone, notifications stacked halfway down the screen.
The first headline I see is enough: CILLIAN O'ROURKE AND THE PUCK BUNNY, some breathless nonsense about the "ass-slap victim" and the disgraced golden boy, a secret romance, a scandalous affair.
There's a text from Derek in all caps telling me to call him immediately, and about forty more underneath it.
"Fuck," I mutter, thumbing through.
The photos are grainy but unmistakable. There's a shot of her in the passenger seat of my car as we were heading back to my flat after grabbing takeout last night.
And then another, a clear view through the windscreen of us kissing at a red light on Van Ness, thinking we were safe in our own little bubble.
"For what it's worth," Jonesy says, dropping onto the bench beside me, "you look happy as hell in that one."
"Not helping, Jonesy."
"The comments are already a dumpster fire," Betts adds. "Half of them think it's romantic. The other half are, uh. Not kind. To either of you." He winces. "Don't read them."
Being a public figure means I'm no stranger to the spotlight, and I'm well-used to the relentless scrutiny from the fans and the media alike. Normally I'd just shrug it off and keep moving. It's just part of the job.
But Margot and I had a plan, a specific agreement to keep things discreet until the heat from the suspension died down. She was so desperate to avoid the circus, and I'd have done anything to protect her from this. And now it's all fucking blown up in our faces.