She didn't say a word; she just pulled my head down and kissed me, her mouth tasting like strawberries and wine. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were dark with a familiar, predatory heat.
"That was sexy as fuck," she joked, her tone firm and low as she adjusted my polo. "It’s been a long time." Her hand slid under my shirt, dragging her nails over my abs, and it took everything in me not to tremble. “how about we sneak behind a tree and I let you fuck me fast and hard real quick.
My dick twitched and I was tempted. I let her hand linger for a few seconds before gently removing it from my skin. “The no-sex rule still applies, Elara. Don’t tease me.”
Elara and I had no problem connecting in the bedroom, but I wanted her heart and soul this time. I was going to earn them through means other than her body. She rolled her eyes and walked off toward the tasting area.
The owner’s daughter, a blonde in short denim cutoffs, was leading the liquor flight. Every time she handed me a glass, her fingers lingered on mine. She leaned over the counter, giving me a generous view of her breast, laughing at jokes I hadn't even finished making. I felt Elara shift beside me.
"He’s seen enough of the titties, lady. They’re nice, thank you for the view," Elara said. She anchored herself to my side, her handsliding firmly around my waist, her thumb hooking into my belt loop.
The girl blinked, her smile faltering under Elara’s gaze. "I was just explaining the fermentation—"
"Who needs to understand fermentation? We’re here to drink strawberry brandy," Elara cut her off, her eyes narrowing. "What I don’t understand is why you keep touching my man’s hand. Move on." She shooed her away.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from howling with laughter. Elara was being territorial. Possessive. It was a complete reversal of our entire history, and it was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever experienced.
By the time we got back into the car, we were both "lit"—the local moonshine had a kick. Quinn pulled the car away from the orchard, and I looked at Elara. Her brown skin was flushed red from the sun and the spirits.
"Elara," I said, leaning my head back against the leather.
"What?"
"Did you ask or pay that farmer’s daughter to flirt with me?"
She didn't miss a beat. She didn't even look at me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You did," I chuckled, reaching for her hand. "I thought about it. Women have approached me when you were there before and you did nothing. Now I’m convinced you paid her to throw herself at me just so you could play the jealous girlfriend. It isn’t in your nature to be envious. You were performing."
She finally turned to me, a slow, wicked grin spreading across her face. "Maybe I did," she whispered. "Did it feel good? Seeing me like that for you?"
I pulled her across the seat and into my lap, my hands finding the curve of her ass. I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in. "Yes," I rasped against her skin. "It felt fucking amazing."
She laughed triumphantly.
Chapter 50
Julian
The dates and the gifts hadn’t stopped for weeks. Besides the outings and the watch, she got me a first edition ofThe Strangerby Camus; I would have preferred another McMillan book, but the thought was there. There was a set of custom cufflinks made from fragments of vintage watch gears. A weekend reservation at a remote cabin in Maine—plane tickets, itinerary, everything included—with a note:Have I wooed you enough yet? This is expensive. You’re the billionaire, not me.
I had laughed for ten minutes straight at that one.
She’d pop up at my office with coffee, exactly how I liked it. She’d have lunch sent to me on days she knew I’d skip it. She’d text me a single line—“Thinking of you”—at random times of the day and night. It was a full-scale, targeted campaign. And I was the objective.
My mother was sitting across from me as I ate from a bento box filled with all the sushi I liked. “It’s beautiful to watch,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a pride I hadn't seen since I closed my first eight-figure deal. “The student has become the master.”
“She’s annoying,” I grumbled, staring at the Patek on my wrist. I’d worn it every day since she gave it to me.
“You love it,” Vivienne corrected, unfazed. “You love every second of it.”
I hated that she was right. I loved the relentless, focused attention. The grand gestures. The quiet, consistent presence. It was everything I’d ever done to her, thrown back in my face with devastating precision. And I was enjoying it. God, I was enjoying it.
My indifference was a shield, but she was chipping away at it—touch by touch, gift by gift, whispered word by whispered word. I was playing her game. I’d let her woo me; I’d let her think she was the one in control for now. Because the truth was, after three years of being her secret and eight months of empty silence, the sound of her key in my door was the only thing I wanted to hear.
The intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Hale? Ms. Vance is on line one. She says to tell you she booked dinner for tonight. She texted Quinn the address.”
