Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sophie
Unable to form words, I stare at him. Then I look at Caleb.
When I see cold resolve in his eyes, I swing back to Lucian. “No.” The warmth that had been humming through my body vanishes as if it never existed.
I push hard against Caleb’s arm, needing distance from both of them, from the heat of their bodies, from the terrible intimacy of what I just allowed to happen between us.
For a fraction of a second, his arm tightens around my waist.
The response is instinctive. I feel it in the sudden flex of muscle against my bare skin, the sheer strength that could keep me exactly where I am if he chose to use it. “Let me go.”
Immediately he releases me, and I scramble off the couch and away from them.
I snatch my shirt from the floor and drag it over my head, covering breasts that were in Caleb’s hands only moments ago.
My panties are somewhere near the coffee table.
I find them, then my leggings, dressing with my back partially turned because the vulnerability that felt frighteningly powerful a few minutes ago now feels entirely different.
Neither man speaks.
Neither tries to touch me again.
When I straighten, Lucian is still sitting at the other end of the sofa, forearms resting loosely on his thighs, watching me with the same unwavering concentration he brings to everything.
Caleb has moved a few feet away.
Giving me space.
Or allowing me the illusion of it.
“You told me I could go home.”
Lucian’s expression doesn’t change. “I told you that you could end anything physical between us. At any time.”
The precision of his answer slices more deeply than anger would have.
“Sophie—”
“No.” I lift a hand, stopping Caleb before he can continue. “I need to understand this.”
Yesterday, at the Retreat, they asked me for a word that could stop everything. They stood back while I panicked over a padded bench and waited for me to decide whether to put my hands on it again.
A few minutes ago, when I couldn’t reach an orgasm on my own, Lucian asked whether I wanted help.
I said yes, and I ended up begging him to touch me.
The memory sends a pulse of heat through me that only makes this worse.
“You told me you would earn my trust.”
Something shifts in his eyes, and I know I’ve penetrated his terrifying composure.
I swallow against the pressure in my throat. “What exactly did you think I was doing five minutes ago?”
His gaze holds mine. “Trusting us.”
“Yes.” My voice is quieter now. “I was.”
Caleb takes a slow breath.
I turn toward him. “I knew I could stop. I knew I could ask you both to leave me alone. And because of that, I asked you to touch me.”
Neither man moves.
The city glitters beyond the enormous windows, thirty-eight floors below us. All that space, all that light, and suddenly the penthouse feels more confining than the private room at the Retreat ever did.
Lucian rises.
Every instinct I have becomes alert, but he doesn’t approach me. He stands beside the sofa, tall and impossibly controlled, his attention fixed on me.
“I understand that you believe the situations are equivalent.”
A bitter disbelief moves through me. “You don’t?”
“No.”
“Of course you don’t.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
I continue before he can interrupt. “Because you’ve divided my life into categories. My body is apparently mine when you want me to surrender it voluntarily. But where I live? Whether I’m constantly surveilled? Those decisions belong to you.”
The question hangs between us.
Caleb’s expression hardens.
Lucian’s remains almost perfectly still.
Days ago, I might have screamed at them. I might have told them they were arrogant bastards and demanded they get out of my way.
Now I know them better.
I know my anger will not move Lucian Hawthorne one inch from a position he believes is correct.
So I force myself to think past the emotions clawing at me.
“If one of my clients came into my office and told me her partner had decided where she would live, who would drive her, what security she would have, and what parts of her privacy she was allowed to keep, what do you think I would tell her?”
Caleb looks toward the windows.
Lucian doesn’t. “I would expect you to examine the circumstances.”
“I would.”
“Then examine ours.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“No, Sophie. You’re comparing us to a man who exercises control for his own gratification.”
A humorless breath escapes me. “You might want to rethink that argument after the camera incident.”
Though he locks his jaw, he doesn’t rise to the bait.
“There are people who will care the moment our relationship becomes public.”
I scoff. “My name is already public.”
“Not in the same way.” Lucian goes on. “Our business creates enemies. Our associations create others.”
Including the Moretti crime family.
A chill slips through me despite myself.
Caleb finally speaks.
“We can harden your building. We can put someone downstairs and another person on your floor. We can put cameras outside your door and give you every feed. None of that changes the fact that the building has multiple access points, shared elevators, a parking structure we don’t control, and residents we haven’t vetted. ”
I stare at him.
This isn’t posturing.
“My apartment was perfectly safe until you came into my life.”
“Yes.” Caleb nods.
No argument.
No attempt to soften it.
The acknowledgment makes my anger harder to sustain.
Frustrated, I wrap my arms around myself and walk toward the windows.
My reflection floats faintly over Houston—hair disheveled, face still flushed from an orgasm I asked them to give me. Under the lights, my engagement ring flashes.
I sigh. It’s their ring. Their penthouse. Their driver. Their security. Their decisions.
And all of it is wrapped up in my mom’s treatment and my father’s debt.
“I need something that is mine.” The words leave me before I decide to say them.
Silence answers.
I look back.
“My practice is mine,” I continue. “My apartment is mine. The furniture is cheap. The kitchen is too small. The air conditioner sounds like it’s preparing for death every August, and the woman downstairs has a dog that barks at absolutely nothing.
” My throat tightens, and I despise the emotion creeping into my voice. “But I chose all of it.”
Caleb’s face changes almost imperceptibly.
Lucian says nothing.
“I built that life. Maybe it doesn’t impress either of you. Maybe you look at my apartment and see inadequate security and secondhand furniture and nothing more.
“That is not what I see.” Lucian’s response is immediate.
I meet his gaze.
“I see a woman who has carried responsibilities that should never have been hers.”
My anger falters.
He continues before I can recover. “A woman who built a successful practice without assistance, lives far beneath her means because every discretionary dollar has been directed toward someone she loves, and still believes accepting help somehow diminishes what she has accomplished.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“No. It’s what I said.”
His words undo me. Does he really see that? “But you can’t make me feel cared for by removing every choice I have.”
For a moment, softness flickers in his eyes, but he schools it away so fast that I wonder if I had hallucinated it.
I take a breath. “You keep saying I won’t have to carry everything alone. Do you understand that there is a difference between sharing a burden with me and taking the entire decision out of my hands?”
“Yes.”
Lucian’s answer surprises me.
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because there are some risks I will not permit you to take.”
The words are quiet, decisive.
Lucian Hawthorne has listened to every word I said, understood all of it, and still intends to move me into his home.
A strange heaviness settles through me.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I have never lied to you about what I am.”
“No. You haven’t.” I’m under no illusions. That may be one of the most frightening things about him.
Caleb comes closer, stopping well outside touching distance. “We can put a camera outside your apartment and give you access.”
I frown, not following him.
“You can keep the apartment.”
My gaze snaps to Lucian.
His expression hardens immediately, but Caleb doesn’t look at him.
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
“I know.” Caleb remains focused on me. “Keep the lease. Keep your furniture there. Keep whatever you need to know it still belongs to you.”
Lucian’s jaw flexes once.
“But you sleep here.”
There it is.
A concession wrapped around an order.
I almost laugh, except nothing about this feels funny. “And if I say no?”
Caleb’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Then we still have a problem.”
The honesty defeats me.
Lucian moves toward us at last, but he stops beside Caleb rather than coming closer to me.
And I realize I’ve won as many concessions as I’m likely to get. “I want some of my own belongings. My clothes.” I wave my hand. “Personal effects.”
Caleb nods.
“And I’ll pack my own things.”
He doesn’t look to Lucian. “Agreed.”
“And I’m going to be utilizing the room you showed me.”
“It’s yours.”
“For whatever I want?”
He pauses, and then it’s Lucian who answers. “Within the limitation already discussed.”
Heat rises beneath my skin. “I want to stay in the guest room until after the wedding.”
Both men look at each other.
Eventually, when I’m sure they’ll argue, Lucian nods. “But I’m moving up the date of the wedding.”
My shoulders collapse forward.
I may have won a battle, but they… They have just won the war.