Chapter 8 - The Morning After
The fire in the stone fireplace had burned down to a bed of glowing red embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany walls of the study.
Mara woke up wrapped in a heavy cashmere throw on the leather sofa, the morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her head rested comfortably against a solid, warm chest.
She blinked sleepily, looking up.
Grant was sitting upright against the arm of the sofa, his white shirt slightly rumpled, his dark hair a little messy. He wasn't working. He wasn't checking his phone or reviewing shipping manifests. He was simply looking down at her with an expression of profound, quiet contentment.
"Good morning," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy with sleep.
Mara felt a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She shifted, trying to sit up, but Grant’s arm tightened around her waist, keeping her securely against him.
"Don't move yet," he murmured.
"Grant, my crew is loading the vans at seven. If I'm not on the east lawn in twenty minutes, Tess is going to assume I've been kidnapped by a billionaire," Mara protested, though she made no real move to pull away.
"Let her assume," Grant replied, a faint smile touching his lips. He reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "I already spoke to Tess. I told her your services have been retained indefinitely for a new, highly complex project."
Mara raised an eyebrow, looking up at him suspiciously. "And what project is that?"
"Me."
Mara let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "You think you can just hire a florist to redesign your life?"
"No," Grant said, his voice turning serious, dropping into that steady, unwavering register. "I'm asking you to partner with me. On equal terms. No empires, no boardrooms, no hidden walls."
Mara stared into his dark eyes, searching for any trace of the arrogant billionaire who had barked orders at her on Thursday morning. There was none left. There was only the man who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for twenty years, finally asking someone to help him share the load.
"You're serious aren't you?" she whispered.
"Dead serious," Grant said. He leaned down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, before finding her lips.
This time, there was no rush, no frantic adrenaline. Just a quiet, absolute certainty that neither of them could ignore anymore.
***
An hour later, the sun was fully up over Holloway Point.
The wedding guests had all checked out, the multi-million-dollar tents were being dismantled by an army of technicians, and the estate was finally returning to its quiet, oceanfront serenity.
Mara stood by her utility van parked near the service entrance, her leather tool belt fastened securely around her waist.
Grant stood beside her, leaning against the door of his Land Rover, watching her with that familiar, intense gaze.
"So," Grant said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Boston?"
"Boston," Mara confirmed, grabbing the handle of the van door. She looked up at him, a challenging, playful spark in her dark eyes. "Though I suppose my schedule is flexible enough to allow for a consulting trip to Newport next weekend."
Grant’s mouth twitched into a slow, wicked grin. He pushed off the Land Rover, closed the distance between them in two long strides, and pulled her into his arms right there in the gravel driveway, kissing her thoroughly in broad daylight, right in front of the bewildered catering crew.
When he finally pulled back, Mara was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Consulting trip approved," Grant murmured, his eyes burning with absolute satisfaction. "Drive safe, Bennett."
"I always do, Holloway," she said, climbing into the driver's seat.
May you like
As she started the engine and pulled down the private drive, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Grant was still standing there by the Land Rover, watching her van descend the hill—not like a man who was losing something, but like a man who knew exactly where he was headed.
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