“I gotta go. Bye, Dad. Love you.”
“I’ll tell her you’ll call her next time I see her,” he called after me. I still heard him through the open windows as I pulled away.
I didn’t even give it a second thought. What I thought about on the way back was Heather’s confusion, her interest, her shift in tone the moment she figured out who I was.
But that wasn’t what stuck.
What stuck was that she hadn’t recognized me at all.
The only person who had—without needing a name, without hesitation—was back at the inn. Probably elbow-deep in invoices, muttering about the busted dishwasher in the restaurant that was about to re-open.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was visiting somewhere.
I felt like I was driving home.
21
Ruby
I WAS MID-SIP OF THEchamomile tea Rio kept me stocked with from the health store when a firm knock landed on the front door of my cottage.
I pushed my laptop aside and opened it to find Sebastian holding a bottle of wine, his eyes blazing, smoldering almost, with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Hey,” I said, stepping aside.
“This is for you,” he said.
But before I could answer, he shut the door with his booted foot, set the bottle on the console without taking his eyes off me, and pulled me into his arms.
His hands were fierce, his mouth already claiming mine.
The hunger was familiar—we’d always had that—but something in the way he kissed me now was different. Urgent. Unfiltered. Like it wasn’t a choice, but a visceral need.
And it was contagious. I reached for him like I hadn’t seen him in weeks, not hours. My pulse kicked up. My body responded faster than my mind could process. I becameravenous for his touch, for his taste. My heart hammered like it sensed the difference.
“I want you so much,” he muttered against my lips. “I need to be inside you.” His voice was rough, like the words had been sitting in his throat all day, waiting.
Even the way he said it was new. He normally told me he wanted to fuck me, and how. But this wasn’t the same. It wasn’t about the physical. It was the verbal equivalent of the closeness we’d been slipping into over the last few weeks. Like we weren’t just fucking anymore, but ... sort of ... more.
Gripping me tighter, he lifted me easily, and my legs wrapped around his waist like muscle memory. He carried me to the bedroom, our mouths never parting.
I all but tore his button-down shirt off, mine following fast. By the time we hit the bed, the only thing left between us was my pajama shorts and his jeans—which we kicked off like they’d personally wronged us.
The second there was nothing left between us, he drove into me, deep and full. His fingers laced with mine at either side of my head, his eyes locked on mine.
And the look in his eyes—there was a depth, almost an ache, I’d never seen before. A kind of raw, fierce claiming. He moved like he was trying to etch himself into my body, and his gaze was anchoring him into my soul.
I wanted to close my eyes, but couldn’t. My legs tightened around him like I needed more than he was already giving.
I could feel the tension in every line and ridge of him.
Each thrust landed deeper, harder, like he was chasing something. Or maybe running from it.
And I let him. Welcomed it. Matched him.
“Ruby,” he breathed, his fingers clutching mine. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine,” his voice broke into a groan as he bent his head and crashed his lips against mine in a rugged, consuming kiss.
I knew that sound. I was making one just like it. It all felt so intense, like we were coming apart, undone, wrecked together. I pulled him tight to me, and even tighter when I came—clenching around him like my body couldn’t bear the thought of him pulling away.
