Page 69 of American Beauty

Ty clears his throat and shifts into business mode, pointing out the pieces he wants to purchase for the hotel. I keep my focus sharp, professional, helping to handle the arrangements without missing a beat.

Transactions are handled, signatures scrawled, everything finalized.

We step out of the gallery, and I still feel the buzz of the evening clinging to me. The night air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat simmering beneath my skin.

“That was productive.”

“It was. Thank you for coming with me.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

He walks beside me, his hand settling at the small of my back. It’s a quiet, possessive touch that sends a ripple of awareness through me. I should pull away, but I don’t.

We turn to walk down a side street, the quiet stretching between us like something tangible, something waiting to break. The city hums in the distance, but here, in the dim light between buildings, it seems like another world.

Then he stops.

Before I can react, his fingers curl around my wrist, tugging me back. My breath catches as he pulls me into the narrow alleybetween two buildings, pressing my back against the brick wall, the rough texture biting through the thin fabric of my dress.

He’s close. Too close. The air between us turns electric, humming with something unspoken, something inevitable.

His eyes flick down to my mouth. “You want me to stop?”

My pulse pounds, my body betraying me.

I shake my head… because I can’t form a single word.

His lips crash against mine, claiming, devouring. Heat surges through me, curling low in my belly as his hands grip my waist, pressing me closer. I melt into him, into the sharp angles of his body, the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin.

I close my eyes, and it’s not Tyson McRae kissing me.

It’s Alex.

My own mind turns traitor, conjuring memories of his touch, his mouth, the way he used to hold me like I was something breakable. But Ty isn’t Alex. His touch is different—rougher, more demanding.

I force my eyes open, and his gaze locks with mine. There’s something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes as his hands slide up my thighs, slipping beneath the hem of my dress.

His fingers brush against my panties, pushing them aside with an ease that makes my breath hitch. I gasp as he strokes me, slow, deliberate. My body arches into him, a treasonous reaction I can’t control.

His lips trail down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “So bloody beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with something I can’t name.

I clutch at his shoulders as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right. My head falls back against the brick, a strangled moan escaping my lips as pleasure crashes over me. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look away, as he watches me fall apart in his hands.

The tension coils, tightens—then shatters. I tremble against him, breathless, dazed. Ty pulls his fingers from me slowly, deliberately. And then?—

He brings them to his mouth.

Tastes me.

“Fuck.” His eyes lock on mine. “You taste so sweet.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

What the hell have I done?

The night air presses in, thick with something unspoken. The moment stretches between us, taut as a wire pulled too tight. My breathing is uneven, my pulse still thundering in my ears.

Ty stands steady, his gaze locked onto mine, waiting for me to react.

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