"Tour later," he says against my lips.
"I wasn't asking for one," I breathe.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me through the penthouse. I catch flashes of rooms, of artwork and furniture and that impossible view, but I don't care.I'll have the rest of my life to explore. Right now, all that matters is the way his hands feel on my skin, the heat building between us with every step.
The bedroom is all darkness and city lights filtering through the windows, casting everything in shadow and light. He sets me down only long enough to strip the dress from my body, his eyes tracking over every inch of me as if he is memorizing me. I am perfect. I am fierce. I am his.
"You're the only thing that makes me feel like I'm actually alive," he whispers, his voice thick with want as he enters me.
I arch against him, my eyes locking on his, filled with a raw, beautiful honesty. "I’m yours, only yours.”
We move together in the dark, a rhythmic, soul-deep connection more powerful than anything I've ever experienced.
As we lie tangled in the sheets hours later, the first hints of dawn streaking the New York sky, I turn to him, my head resting on his shoulder.
"We still have to plan the wedding, you know," I say, my voice sleepy and content. "And I'm a very expensive wedding planner, Brooks.”
He kisses the top of my head. "Whatever the price is, Ivy... I'll pay it, as long as you stay for the long haul."
"I'm not going anywhere, Taylor," I say, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "The job isn't done until we're old and gray and still arguing about cherubs."
I smile into the dark, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. I am no longer filling space meant for someone else. I am the woman who finally knows what it feels like to be someone’s first choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BROOKS
In the high-stakes world of venture capital, you learn to read the room. You assess the variables, calculate the risks, and position yourself for maximum advantage. It's a skill set that has served me well in boardrooms and negotiations.
But lately, I find myself caring less about strategy and more about the woman sitting across from me at breakfast, stealing my coffee and explaining why I can't seat all the difficult relatives at one table and call it "containment strategy."
It is Saturday night, and we are crossing the bridge away from Manhattan, the skyline of the city receding behind us in a glitter of glass and steel. The air coming through the cracked window is different here: saltier, heavier, and humming with the restless energy of the weekend as we head toward the coastal roads of Long Island.
"Brooks, you've been suspiciously quiet for the last twenty miles," Ivy says. Her voice is a warm, melodic interruption to the low hum of the tires.
I glance at her. She is in a simple black sundress that should be understated, but on her, it is devastating. Her dark hair iswind-blown and wild. The diamond on her finger catches the passing streetlights, throwing tiny rainbows across the leather interior.
I shift in my seat, having already ditched my tie after we left the city.
"I'm thinking," I say, my hand sliding across the center console to rest on her thigh. Her skin warms beneath my touch.
"That's a dangerous pastime for a man like you," she teases, leaning her head back against the seat. "What about?"
"How much I'm looking forward to not sharing you with Manhattan for the next two days," I say. "No board meetings, no events, no networking. Just us."
She smiles, her hand covering mine. "Us sounds perfect."
"Where are we going?" she asks after a moment. "This isn't the way back to River Bend."
I pull the SUV into a gravel parking lot that holds more memories than it has any right to. The sign above the door flickers in neon defiance: MARVIN'S. The 'M' buzzes with that same angry electrical hum, and the 'S' still hangs by a single screw.
Ivy stills, her eyes widening as she takes in the peeling paint and the row of motorcycles lined up by the entrance. Recognition lights her face.
"You remembered," she whispers.
"How could I forget?" I say, putting the car in park and turning to face her. "Best burger I've ever had. And the company wasn't bad either."
The look she gives me then makes my chest tighten. It is the same raw honesty I saw that first night here, months ago now.
