“Checking up on me,” she said, finally taking a big gulp of wine.
“And why,” he said, voice dangerously even, “did he think that was necessary?”
“Maybe…Nico mentioned I was staying here alone.” It sounded flimsy, even to her.
“What time.”
“Seven.”
“How long.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
The silence had the texture of judgment. She could feel him calculating. What could’ve been said. What could’ve happened.
“Did he touch you.”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Nothing like that.”
Gage leaned back in his chair, watching her. Dissecting every word, every breath. He swirled the last of his wine, then finished it in one drink. “I think it’s time you pack your stuff.”
Bea opened her mouth to argue—then closed it again. This wasn’t the moment to negotiate. Not when he looked at her like that.
The chair scraped back slowly. Gage stood. He came around the table toward her, each step measured. When he reached her, he braced one hand against the back of her chair.
Her breath caught. Her pulse stuttered. “Gage?—”
He silenced her with his mouth. Not a kiss meant to soothe. Punctuation at the end of a command. Her body jolted, heart hammering her ribs, lips parted beneath his. She didn’t kiss him back. Didn’t have time.
When he pulled away, his voice was smooth. “Go pack, sweetheart. I’ll wait.”
That went well. Said absolutely no one.
Bea spent the ride to Gage’s penthouse trying not to feel like a delinquent being escorted home. Except this wasn’t a parent she’d disappointed. It was her boyfriend. And she had a pretty good idea what kind of trouble she was in.
Maybe telling him about Catherine would help. But at this point, it probably wouldn’t. Nothing would erase the fact that Rafael had come, and that she’d let him in.
He hadn’t spoken. Not in the car. Not in the elevator. Not until the door of his bedroom closed behind them. They stood, facing each other, in the middle of the floor.
“You don’t let a man like Rafael Griffin find you alone at night. Not behind a locked door.” It wasn’t anger. It was a line. Drawn low and final across the space between them.
“You make it sound like I was in danger.”
“Mistakes cost more here than they do back home,” he said. “I’m not trying to cage you, Bea. But I need to know you’re not making yourself a target when I’m not there to stop it.”
He looked at her like the world had narrowed down to this: her safety, his failure, and the space between them.
She had the words. Calm, reasonable ones.I didn’t feel unsafe. It wasn’t like that. Rafael isn’t—But none of them felt right in her mouth. None of them felt strong enough to hold up in this room, to this man, at this moment.
Instead, Bea crossed the room, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him.
Gage didn’t resist. He kissed her back, rougher than usual, like that was the answer he’d been waiting for.
Then he pushed her gently back onto the bed and stripped her. No slow undressing, no question in his touch. Just need and claim.
Her breath hitched as he came down over her, skin against skin, mouth at her throat.
The moment he thrust into her, she stopped thinking. No air, no time, just the shock of fullness and a warning beneath it.
