Carolyn’s eyes meet mine. That's the moment we both realize my mother is missing from the portrait. "We can’t have that," I say, chuckling as I wipe my hands on a rag.
Carolyn nods, and the shared amusement warms me from the inside out. "No problem. I’ll add her in. It’ll take no time at all," she says softly, reaching for a clean brush and dipping it into the palette to sketch a quick outline beside us.
"Let Carolyn add Grandma in. You run along. Wash up and change. I’ll order a pizza for lunch."
“Yay, Pepperoni pizza with sweet corn on the side,” she orders and scampers off, her footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving us alone.
I extend my hand and step closer, and the scent of paint and her perfume mingle in a heady mix. "Finish it later. My mother won’t be back until tomorrow—come walk with me now."
She doesn’t hesitate even for a second. Her fingers slip into my hand, warm and soft. We head out of the sliding glass doors and walk through the grounds toward the lake and garden, the path winding under ancient oaks planted from the original days when this whole estate belonged to my English ancestors.
The tree branches arch like protective arms overhead, and the gravel crunches softly under our shoes. The lake ahead reflects the sun like a mirror, its surface still and glassy. It's comfortable out here, with the air mild and a faint breeze rustling the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of soil mixed with subtle floral notes. She leans into me as we stroll, her shoulder brushing my arm, her warmth seeping through our clothes. It makes my pulse quicken, even as a deep contentment settles over me like I've never known before.
I decide to ask what theme she is planning for the yearly fund-raising event. It’s coming up soon and it has been her domain ever since she took over the job of organizing it from my mother.
"What's the vision this year?" I murmur, my thumb stroking the back of her hand gently.
Chapter Forty-Two
JULIET
Ihave no idea what he is talking about. A charity event on the estate that Carolyn usually organizes on a yearly basis? The words hang between us as we walk the winding path through the grounds. Blake's hand is warm in mine, but his casual question about the theme tightens something in my chest. Panic coils like a spring because Carolyn never mentioned this in the training. No details about any annual galas or themes.
Honestly, at this point, I’m almost convinced Carolyn wanted me to fail. The thought is bitter and sharp. Why leave out something this big? Was it an oversight, or deliberate? Setting me up to stumble so she could swoop back in? Why, though? The uncertainty gnaws at me, an ache in my gut. But I push it down. My free hand clenches at my side, and my steps falter slightly on the path.
He notices immediately, pausing to turn toward me. His gray eyes search my face with that intensity that makes my knees weak. His voice is low and concerned. “Everything okay?"
I tighten my grip on his hand and force a smile, even if it feels brittle on my lips. I realize my voice is a touch too bright. "Yeah,I'm fine. I haven’t quite completely decided. I have one or two options that I’m considering," I improvise.
We resume walking. The sun warms my skin, and birds chirp from the oaks overhead like they're mocking my ignorance, focusing on the path ahead. The lake is now close enough to hear the soft lap of water against the shore. We come upon a secluded spot tucked away from the main paths, wilder than the manicured beds nearer the house. Lush blooming heirloom roses climb trellises. A small fountain bubbles in the center, water trickling over moss-covered stones that glint in the light. Lavender plants border the edges, their purple spikes releasing a calming scent as we brush past.
“What are the options?” he asks casually.
Damn. What do I do now? Quick. think. Think! “I was thinking a garden theme would be nice,” I say, the words tumbling out. I gesture expansively at the space around us. "Something like this—natural, elegant, with lights strung through the trees."
He doesn’t react negatively, so I carry on, pulling ideas out of my ass, drawing from half-remembered photos in magazines and TV shows. My voice gains confidence as he listens, his head tilted slightly. A small, slightly impressed smile playing on his lips makes my heart flutter despite the nerves. "We could have floral arches at the entrance. Tables set with fresh centerpieces—maybe peonies and hydrangeas. A selection of string quartets playing among the paths. Interactive elements, like a fun photo booth with garden props."
He nods, his thumb still circling my hand. "Sounds perfect. Like an …affair in the Garden?"
"That’s it. That’s the theme. An affair in the Garden," I echo with a satisfied nod. The name fits like a puzzle piece, evoking romance and whimsy. A perfect idea for a charity event. Fuck you, Carolyn. You left me to flounder, but I’ll do okay.
"Let’s be the first couple to test it out," he says, his voice dropping lower, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Here? Outside? Where anybody could see us?" I ask, but a spark of anticipation runs through me as he tugs me gently off the path.
“The staff have the day off. Nobody will see us.”
We head in, and he finds a bench tucked away under the rose trellis. It is made of wrought iron. Its curves are cool and ornate. Vines weave through the backrest like nature's embroidery, the seat dappled with sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. He sits first, pulling me down onto his lap with a firm grip on my waist, his shirt rides up as I straddle him. His jeans feel rough under my bare thighs, the friction already stirring heat.
He starts to kiss me, his mouth claiming mine in a deep, slow press that melts any lingering resistance. His hands slide up my back under the fabric, fingers tracing my spine in feather-light strokes that make me arch into him. Lust spreads like wildfire, and my thoughts scatter like the leaves on a windy fall day. His stubble grazes my chin, a rough scrape that heightens every sensation. His tongue teases mine with bold, swirling promises that leave me breathless, gasping into his mouth.
And then he starts to pull his boxers down. He slides them right off when I lift one leg, then the other to help him. The cool air kisses my exposed core and makes me shiver with anticipation. My heart pounds wild in my chest, each beat echoing the growing ache between my legs.
His zipper rasps down, then his hardness springs free, thick and ready, the head flushed and glistening. I wrap my hand around him briefly, feeling the velvet heat pulse under my palm. His hands grip my bare ass firmly, squeezing the flesh as he positions me over that thick shaft and impales me onto it. Thick and hard and deep. The stretch fills me completely as I sink down inch by inch. My sex is still a little sore and swollen fromlast night, and the fullness is overwhelming, almost too much to bear.
A throaty moan escapes my lips.
But there is no rest for the wicked. With firm hands, he urges me to move, and move fast. I ride him right there. Bouncing ferociously on his cock. The bench rattles under our weight. A rhythmic groan that blends with my movements. My hands brace on his shoulders for balance, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as I move, bending my back in a deep arch that presses my breasts against his chest. The angle hits just right inside me, pleasure spiking sharp and hot with each roll of my hips.
