Page 54 of The Pucking Date
“I remember,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper, “how you came apart in my hands. How you said my name like it was the only word you knew. How you gave me everything. And then begged for more.”
Her hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my wrist, not to stop me, but to anchor herself against the storm I’m building inside her.
“Finn—” My name comes out broken, desperate.
“And I know you remember too,” I murmur, bringing our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her racing pulse. “How good it felt to finally let someone strong enough handle your current.”
For a heartbeat, we stay frozen like that, her pulse wild under my lips, electricity crackling between us.
Then I release her hand and stand, straightening my shirt like I haven’t just set us both on fire.
“Enjoy your book, Red.”
I return to my seat, leaving her there, flushed, breathless, and completely undone.
She doesn’t pick up the book again for the rest of the flight.
Because I rewired the whole damn story.
Four hours later,we touch down in Salt Lake City. The air hits different here—thinner, crisper, sharp with the promise of mountain snow. By the time we pull into Park City, the sun’s starting to dip behind the mountains. Long shadows stretch across the pines and asphalt, and the resort glows in the golden sunlight.
The lobby gleams with glass, stone, and leather—minimalist, expensive, touched with a curated warmth only money brings. Fireplaces flicker inside sleek hearths, and the check-in desk commands the space, all heavy mahogany and quiet authority.
Jessica strides in. Polish and power. Navy silk dress fitted at the waist, whispering around her thighs with every step. High neckline, sleeveless, enough dip in the back to make a man forget what he was saying. Her heels are red and high. Unapologetic. Her hair’s pinned up in a slick knot that makes it impossible not to stare. And behind her, her black carry-on rolls in silence.
She doesn’t look at me.
But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel me watching. And yeah, I’m watching.
Because I know how she shatters. I know how she meltswhen she stops pretending she doesn’t want me. And all I can think about is peeling away that perfect composure layer by layer.
That’s when Chad Vanderbilt materializes from the shadows near the concierge desk, polished, predatory, and radiating the kind of intent you only recognize once it’s too late. The fine print in human form.
“Jess,” he drawls, smooth teeth and expensive charm. His gaze slides over her like he’s appraising property, lingering on the curve of her waist, the length of her legs, the way her dress falls over her body.
My jaw locks. Hard.
He’s the kind of man who learned etiquette before empathy—smooth manners to your face, and a knife already sliding into your back. Polished to perfection, every ounce of charm engineered to distract from the rot underneath. And he’s looking at her like she’s still his. The familiarity in his stare, the possessive sweep of his eyes, it hits me like a body check to the ribs.
Every muscle in my body coils tight. My hands curl into fists at my sides. Even though she’s not mine yet, the way this bastard’s drinking her in makes something primal and violent claw up my throat.
“Chad,” she says, voice cool as winter, but I catch the slight stiffening of her shoulders. The way she unconsciously shifts in my direction.
He doesn’t notice. Too busy cataloging every inch of her like he’s got permanent viewing rights.
“You look...” He pauses, his predatory smile spreading wider. “Incredible. That dress… Christ, Jess. You always did know how to make a man forget his manners.”
The words drip with intimacy. With the kind of casual ownership that makes my vision go red around the edges.
Jessica’s smile doesn’t waver. But when she speaks, her voice is glacial and controlled.
“And you always did confuse proximity with permission, Chad.”
The words land clean and sharp, and something primal flares in my chest. A slow burn at first. Then full-blown, blistering want.
She’s not giving him an inch. Doesn’t need backup, she’s already got him bleeding. But I still step in, close enough to shadow her, close enough to make it clear.
If he wants anything else, he’ll have to go through me.
