Chapter 9 #2
By the time dessert is served, I’m drowning in champagne and wine, my focus a little hazy.
Hugo’s slurring so badly he’s practically speaking in tongues.
Isabel’s still draped over Dane like she’s auditioning for ownership.
So when Dominic leans over and murmurs, “Want a tour of the grounds?” I nod too quickly.
Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin. The manicured gardens twinkle under strings of lights, soft rain threatening at the edges of the breeze. Dominic gestures toward a tall hedge, trimmed into perfect symmetry.
“The infamous Bexley maze,” he says with mock grandeur. “The source of many lost guests and one disastrous proposal.”
I arch a brow. “Yours?”
“Please. I have better judgment than to propose anywhere that requires a map to exit.”
I laugh, the sound slipping freer than it has all evening. “So what’s the prize if you make it to the center?”
“Survival.” He grins. “Or a bar, depending on who’s hosting.”
As we step closer to the entrance, the neat green walls glisten faintly with mist.
“Go on then,” he challenges. “Think you can find your way?”
“After three glasses of champagne? Probably not,” I admit.
“Then I’ll lead. Try to keep up, assistant extraordinaire.”
We don’t get far before the drizzle turns into rain. Fat drops spatter the gravel, darkening his suit jacket. I squeal as cold water hits the back of my neck.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. “There’s shelter by the stables.”
We sprint across the lawn, laughing as the rain quickens, until we duck inside the open stable doors. The scent of hay and damp leather fills the air. Horses shuffle in their stalls, calm and curious. Dominic runs a hand through his soaked hair, grinning.
“Are you impressed? Candlelit dinner, midnight rain, livestock.”
I laugh again, still breathless. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Wait until you meet Eros.” He stops beside a stall, stroking the muzzle of a dark bay. “Named after the god of love. Don’t judge. My mother insisted.”
Before I can reply, a shadow fills the doorway.
Dane.
His shirt is damp, sleeves rolled to the forearms, rain still glinting in his hair, breath exhaling like smoke in the damp air. His expression is controlled, but there’s a storm in his eyes.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, voice like steel. “It’s time to go.”
Dominic smirks, quirking a brow. “Didn’t realize Sloane has a curfew.”
Dane doesn’t look at him. His eyes stay rooted on mine. “You should go, Dominic. Your brother is getting messy. Or should I say, messier.”
Dominic sighs, clapping Eros’ neck.
“Duty calls. Until next time, Sloane.”
I offer Dominic a small smile, my pulse tripping over itself under the force of Dane’s stare.
Silence falls between us, broken only by the sound of hooves shifting on straw.
Dane takes a slow step forward.
“Are you afraid?”
I blink. “Of who?”
One corner of his mouth lifts, faint amusement flickering.
“They won’t bite unless you give them a reason to.”
He steps beside me, his presence steady, giving nothing away.
The horse shifts, tail swishing, a soft snort breaking the stillness. Dane reaches out, resting a hand on its flank with a calm familiarity that feels almost intimate.
“Come here, Sloane,” he says; the quiet command in his tone sending electric chills down my spine.
I hesitate, but he moves behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat at my back. His hand finds mine, guiding it forward until my fingers press against the horse’s warm neck.
“See?” His breath brushes my ear. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
The horse snorts softly, tail swishing. Dane shifts behind me, the movement sending a faint ripple of awareness through me.
“They like confidence,” he says quietly. “Not fear.”
His hand closes over mine, steering my palm slowly along the horse’s neck and down the smooth line of its shoulder.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “They lean into trust.”
The horse exhales as Dane’s hand drifts to its neck, stroking absently.
“I think Eros likes you.” I grin, disarmed by the gentleness in Dane.
“My mom’s sister kept a ranch in Montana,” he says. “I would escape there as often as I could when I was growing up. I used to hide out in the stables, sometimes to smoke, sometimes to sneak girls back there.”
I smile softly. It’s not lost on me that this is the first time he’s shared something personal with me.
I glance back at him. “Nothing changes then.”
That earns a quiet laugh. “Maybe not.”
My breath stutters when his hand slides from mine, tracing up my arm, leaving a trail of tingling heat. He reaches up, brushing my damp hair aside, fingertips grazing the curve of my neck.
His lips find the hollow just below my jaw—a whisper of warmth that climbs slowly upward until his mouth hovers beneath my ear.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice raw, rough-edged. “Why would you let him lead you away?”
There’s something under the possessiveness in his tone—something he’s trying to keep buried, not quite vulnerability but close enough.
“You seemed busy.”
“I was,” he growls. “Busy imagining all the ways I’m going to kill Dominic for thinking he can take what’s mine.”
And there he is.
“Last time I checked...” I start, the words stalling as his fingers slide along my ribs, a teasing brush that sends heat spiraling low. “You don’t own me.”
Amusement threads through his reply. “Yet.”
He turns me to face him, one hand firm at my side, stealing my balance before I can find it again.
“I think it’s about time we finished our discussion from the pool,” he says softly, eyes dark. “Don’t you?”
My stomach flips.
His hands slide to my waist, urging me back toward the porch as the wind howls and rain lashes the air. I barely have time to register what he’s doing before he drops into a weathered armchair and pulls me down with him, my thighs bracketing his hips, the storm closing in around us.
A startled breath leaves me. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you want,” he murmurs, his hand rising to cradle my jaw.
“You don’t know what I want.”
“Oh, but I do.” His tone dips lower as he hooks a finger under my chin, edging me closer until my breath tangles with his. “Your eyes have been begging me all night.”
His lips brush mine, just a breath of contact that sends a shiver racing through me.
“Do you know what they’ve been telling me?” His voice hums against my skin as his knuckles trail slowly up the inside of my thigh, lingering at the edge of my lace panties.
I shake my head, breath already uneven.
“That if I do this...” He inhales softly, as if tasting the sound I make, his finger slipping beneath the delicate lace, finding heat and slickness that betrays me instantly. “I’ll find you wet. Aching. Ready.”
A broken sound slips out of me when he pulls back, my body reacting on instinct. His grip stays firm on my chin as he drags his slick fingers to my mouth.
“Open,” he orders, voice gruff.
His gaze pins me there—jaw tight, eyes blazing—watching every slow flick of my tongue.
The wind surges again, rain misting my skin, cold against the fever burning through me. He catches my lower lip between his teeth, tugging until I gasp, then releases it with a low sound that feels half warning, half surrender.
I rock against him slowly, chasing friction, feeling him harden beneath me, savoring the groan I pull from his chest. His mouth returns to mine—deeper this time, hungrier—the kiss building as his hands roam, fingers threading into my hair, skimming over my breasts, settling hard at my waist to keep me pressed close.
Beads of rain mingle with our frantic kisses as our mouths move together, messy and breathless, heat replacing any thought of control. His hand slides to my skirt, hitching it up, fabric bunching at my waist. Relief floods me when his fingers slip beneath the seam of my panties.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is reckless—a mistake I’ll regret. But then his fingers sink inside me, his thumb finding my clit in tight, merciless circles, and every thought disintegrates.
I moan into his mouth as he drives his middle finger deeper, curling just right until sparks tear through me. The pressure coils low, twisting tighter and tighter, until all I can feel is the blinding rush of heat spreading through every nerve.
A strangled sound leaves me when he drags his mouth from mine, breath hot against my ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Come for me now, like a good girl, and I’ll fuck you extra hard later.”
That’s all it takes.
I break with a cry, pleasure crashing through me in waves, my body trembling hard as his name spills from my lips into the night sky.
He crushes his mouth to mine again, kissing me long and hard, swallowing every moan, every broken sound.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps against my lips, his voice hoarse with something I’ve never heard from him before.
For a moment, as his hand cups my face with startling gentleness, I almost believe that what flickers in his eyes is real.
Until one word shatters it.
One name.
“Sloane,” he breathes, soft, stunned.
Bile burns the back of my throat.
I scramble off his lap, stumbling backward, yanking my skirt back into place. “No—no, no, no.” My hands fly up as if I can physically stop what’s already happened. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” I mumble, the word tumbling out again and again, like repetition might erase the last five minutes.
“Sloane?” he says again, a crease forming between his brows. He reaches for me, but I shake him off, pacing in tight circles, fingers digging into my hair.
“That wasn’t meant to happen,” I blurt, thoughts skidding wildly. “Actually—no. It didn’t happen.”
He stares at me. “I hate to break it to you, Sloane, but it very much did.”
Christ, why does he have to keep saying the name, each time cutting a little deeper.
My mind scrambles for something, anything. Any way out of this mess. I stop dead, clutching at the first straw I can find.
“It was the champagne...” I say, like I’m concocting some fucked up alibi. “Yes...the champagne....and the wine,” I throw in for good measure. I’m half a second away from blaming the snails or freaking Eros as panic takes over.
“So let me get this straight,” he says, voice harder now. “You’re blaming this on the champagne?” His jaw clenches so tight, I can see the pulse ticking in his neck.
I risk another glance—and holy shit, those eyes. Burning green, furious, like some kind of beautiful, toxic fire.
He rakes a hand through his rain-soaked hair, droplets flicking off his wrist and sliding down the curve of his throat.
“Jesus, Sloane,” he mutters, shaking his head, “ever thought about letting a man down gently?”
And because I’ve apparently decided to self-destruct, I toss in, “You’re not really my type.”
He just studies me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
“That’s not what it seemed like just now,” he grits out. “Or when you stayed in my hotel room to enjoy the free show.”
To be honest, I should shut up, I really should, but my mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo.
“Isabel was very taken with you. Someone like her would be perfect for you.”
“Goddammit, Sloane, will you stop already. My ego is pretty foolproof, but you’re testing the limits.”
As if even the night itself has had enough of me, the rain starts pelting down harder, soaking us both. I just stand there, heart collapsing in on itself, tongue burning with the truth—that every second of him, his mouth, his hands, his goddamn control, was everything and more.
Then Sloane’s face flashes in my mind, the way she talks about loving this job. Depending on it.
I seal the casket shut myself.
“Let’s pretend this never happened,” I murmur. “Please.”
His jaw flexes, a harsh breath leaving him. “Message received loud and clear.”
He turns toward the house, shoulders already locked back into place, the warmth gone so completely it’s like it never existed. “We need to leave,” he adds, voice all business now. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Silence settles heavy as I follow, forcing myself to shut down, to lock everything away.
I stare at the rain-spattered window for the entire drive back, watching the quiet stretch of countryside slowly give way to the edges of the city.
Open fields dissolve into rows of houses, hedgerows replaced by streetlights, the sky bruised and heavy as London creeps closer mile by mile.
Beside me, Maria chatters happily to Dane, thrilled to have his undivided attention.
He gives it to her easily, like nothing ever happened.
I let their voices fade into the background. I don’t look at them. I can’t trust what might show on my face if I do.
Because now I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Sloane I’ve screwed everything up.
My stomach twists with guilt and longing as I tell myself the same lie over and over—
that I can forget him.
That I will.