“I need you, too,” she whispered, rolling onto her back. “I don’t want to look at you in a mirror, Chadwick. I want to see you.”
He sat back on his knees and grabbed one of the condoms. Quickly, he rolled it on and lowered himself into her waiting arms. His erection found her center and he thrust in.
She moaned as he propped himself up on one arm and filled his other hand with her breast. “Yes, just like that.”
He rolled his thumb over her nipple and was rewarded when it went stiff. Her breast was warm and full and real. Everything about her was real—her body, her emotions, her honesty.
Serena ran her nails down his back as she looked him in the eye, spurring him on. Over and over he plunged into her welcoming body. Over and over, waves of emotion flooded his mind.
Now that he was with her, he felt more authentic than he had in years—maybe ever. The closest he’d ever come to feeling real was the year he’d spent making beer. The brewmasters hadn’t treated him with distrust, as so many people in the other departments had. They’d treated him like a regular guy.
Serena worked hard for him, but she’d never done so with the simpering air of a sycophant. Had never treated him like he was a stepping stool to bigger and better things.
This was real, too. The way her body took his in, the way he made her moan—the way he wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go....
Without closing her eyes—without breaking the contact between them—she made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat as she tightened on his body then collapsed back against her pillow.
He drove hard as his climax roared through his ears so loudly that it blotted out everything but Serena. Her eyes, her face, her body. Her.
He wanted her. He always had.
This didn’t change anything.
“Serena...” He wanted to tell her he loved her, but then what did that mean? Was he actually in love with her? What he felt for her was far stronger than anything he’d ever felt for another woman, but did that mean it was love?
So he bit his tongue and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into her hair.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Tonight. In my bed.”
“Yes.” That was all he needed right now. Her, in his arms.
What if this was love? With Serena tucked against his chest, Chadwick started to drift off to sleep on that warm, happy thought. He and Serena. In love.
But then a horrifying idea popped into his mind, jerking him back from peaceful sleep. What if this wasn’t love? What if this was mere infatuation, something that would evaporate under the harsh light of reality—reality that they might have ignored tonight but that would be unavoidable come Monday morning?
He’d slept with his assistant. Before the divorce was final.
It was exactly what his father would have done.
Eleven
The smell of crisp bacon woke him.
Chadwick rolled over to find himself alone in an unfamiliar bed. He found a clock on the side table. Half past six. He hadn’t slept that late in years.
He sat up. The first thing he saw was the mirror. The one he’d watched as he made love to his assistant.
Serena.
His blood began to roar in his ears as his mind replayed the previous night. Had he really crossed that line—the one he’d sworn he would never cross?
Waking up naked in her bed, his body already aching for her, seemed to say one hell of a yes.
He buried his head in his hands. What had he done?
Then he heard it—the soft sound of a woman humming. It was light and, if he didn’t know better, filled with joy.
He got out of bed and put his pants on. Breakfast first. He’d think better once he had a meal in him. As he walked down the short hallway toward the kitchen, he was surprised at how sore his body was. Apparently, not having sex for a few years and then suddenly having it twice had been harder on him than running a few extra miles would have been.
He looked around Serena’s place. It was quite small. There was the bedroom he’d come out of. He made another stop at the bathroom, which stood between the bedroom and another small room that was completely empty. Then he was out into the living room, which had a shabby-looking couch against one wall and a space where a flat-screen television must have been on the other. A table stood between the living room space and the kitchen. The legs and the chairs looked a bit beat up, but the table was covered by a clean, bright blue cloth and held a small, chipped vase filled with the roses he’d brought her.
His wine cellar was bigger than this apartment. The place was clearly assembled from odds and ends, but he liked it. It looked almost exactly how he’d imagined a real home would look, one in which babies might color on the walls and spill juice on the rug. One filled with laughter and joy. A place that was a home, not just a piece of real estate.
He found Serena standing in front of the stove, a thin blue cotton robe wrapped around her shoulders, her hair hanging in long waves down her back. Something stirred deep in his chest. Did she have anything on under the robe? She was humming as she flipped the bacon. It smelled wonderful.
He had a cook, of course. Even though he didn’t eat at home very often, George was in charge of feeding the household staff. If Chadwick gave him enough warning, George would have something that rivaled the best restaurants in Denver waiting for him. But if Chadwick didn’t, he’d eat the same thing that the maids did. Which was the norm.
He leaned against the doorway, watching Serena cook for him. This felt different than knowing that, somewhere in his huge mansion, George was making him dinner. That was George’s job.
Serena frying him bacon and, by the looks of it, eggs?
This must be what people meant by “comfort food.” Because there was something deeply comforting about her taking care of him. As far as he could remember, no one but a staff cook had ever made him breakfast.
Was this what normal people did? Woke up on a Sunday morning and had breakfast together?
He came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, reveling in the way her hair smelled—almost like vanilla, but with a hint of breakfast. He kissed her neck. “Good morning.”
She startled but then leaned back, the curve of her backside pressing against him. “Hi.” She looked up at him.
He kissed her. “Breakfast?”
“I’m normally up before six, but I made it until a little after,” she said, sounding sheepish about it.
“That’s pretty early.” Those were basically the same hours he kept.
“I have this boss,” she went on, her tone teasing as she flipped another strip of bacon, “who keeps insane hours. You know how it is.”
He chuckled against her ear. “A real bastard, huh?”
She leaned back, doing her best to look him in the eye. “Nope. I think he’s amazing.”
He kissed her again. This time he let his hands roam away from her waist to other parts. She pulled away and playfully smacked the hand that had been cupping her breast. “You don’t want your breakfast burned, do you? The coffee’s ready.”
She already had a cup sitting in front of the coffeemaker. Like everything else in her place, the coffeemaker looked like it was either nine years old or something she’d bought secondhand.
She hadn’t been kidding. By the looks of her apartment, she really had put every bonus in savings.
It was odd. In his world, people spent money like it was always going out of style. No one had to save because there would always be more. Like Phillip, for example. He saw a horse he wanted, and he bought it. It didn’t matter how much it was or how many other horses he had. Helen had been the same, except for her it was clothing and plastic surgery. She had a completely new wardrobe every season from top designers.
Hell, he wasn’t all that different. He owned more cars than he drove and a bigger house than he’d ever need, and he had three maids. The only difference was that he’d been so busy working that he hadn’
t had time to start collecting horses like his brother. Or mistresses, like his father. For them, everything had been disposable. Even the horses. Even the people.
Serena wasn’t like that. She didn’t need a new coffeepot just because the old one was old. It still worked. That seemed to be good enough for her.
He filled his mug—emblazoned with the logo of a local bank—and sat at the table, watching her. She moved comfortably around her kitchen. He wasn’t entirely sure where the kitchen was in his family mansion. “You make breakfast often?”
She put some bread into a late-model toaster. “I’ve gotten very good at cooking. It’s...”
“Stable?”
“Reassuring,” she answered with a grin. “I bring home my own bacon and fry it up in the pan.” She brought plates with bacon and eggs to the table, and then went back for the toast and some strawberry jam. “I clip coupons and shop the sales—that saves a lot of money. Cooking is much cheaper than eating out. I think last night was the first time I’d gone out to dinner in...maybe three months?” Her face darkened. “Yes. Just about three months ago.”
He remembered. Three months ago, Neil and she had “mutually” decided to end their relationship.
“Thank you for making me breakfast. I’ve never had someone cook for me. I mean, not someone who wasn’t on staff.”
She blushed. “Thank you for dinner. And the dresses. I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve never had anyone spend that kind of money on me before.”
“You handled yourself beautifully. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
That had been his mistake. It was just that she fit in so well at the office, never once seeming out of place among the high rollers and company heads Chadwick met with. He’d assumed that was part of her world—or at least something close to it.
But it wasn’t. Now that he saw her place—small, neatly kept but more “shabby” than “shabby chic”—he realized how off the mark he’d been.
She gave him a smile that was part gentle and part hot. “It was fun. But I think I’ll get different shoes for next time.”
Next time. The best words he’d heard in a long, long time.
They ate quickly. Mostly because he was hungry and the food was good, but also because Serena shifted in her seat and started rubbing his calf with her toes. “When do you have to leave?”
He wanted to stay at least a little bit longer. But he had things to do, even though it was Sunday—for starters, he had an interview with Nikkei Business, a Japanese business magazine, at two. He couldn’t imagine talking about the fate of the brewery from the comfort of Serena’s cozy place. How could those two worlds ever cross?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Really, how could their two worlds cross? His company was imploding and his divorce was draining him dry—and that wasn’t even counting the fact that Serena was pregnant. And his assistant.
He’d waited so long for Serena. She’d done admirably the night before at dinner and then the gala, but how comfortable would she really be in his world?
They still had this morning. They finished breakfast and then he tried to help her load the dishwasher. Only he kept trying to put the cups on the bottom rack, which made her giggle as she rearranged his poor attempts. “Never loaded a dishwasher before, huh?”
“What gave me away?” He couldn’t bring himself to be insulted. She was right.
“Thanks for trying.” She closed the dishwasher door and turned to him. “Don’t worry. You’re better at other things.”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Yeah, he didn’t have to leave yet.
He stripped the robe from her shoulders, leaving it in a heap on the floor. No, nothing underneath. Just her wonderful body. With the morning light streaming through the sheers she had hung over her windows, he could finally, fully see what he’d touched the night before.
Her breasts were large and firm. He bent down and traced her nipple with his tongue. Serena gasped as the tip went hard in his mouth, her fingers tangling through his hair. Sensitive. Perfect.
“Bed,” she said in a voice that walked the fine line between fluttery and commanding.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, standing back to give her a mock salute before he swept her off her feet.
“Chadwick!” Serena clutched at him, but she giggled as he carried her back down the short hall.
He laid her down on the bed, pausing only long enough to get rid of his pants. Then he was filling his hands with her breasts, her hips—covering her body with his—loving the way she touched him without abandon.
This was what he wanted—not the company, not Helen, not galas and banquets and brothers and sisters who took and took and never seemed to give back.
He wanted Serena. He wanted the kind of life where he helped cook and do the dishes instead of having an unseen staff invisibly take care of everything. He wanted the kind of life where he ate breakfast with her and then went back to bed instead of rushing off for an interview or a meeting.
He wanted to have a life outside of Beaumont Brewery. He wanted it to be with Serena.
He had no idea how to make that happen.
As he rocked into Serena’s body and she clung to him, all he could think about was the way she made him feel—how he hadn’t felt like this in...well, maybe ever.
This was what he wanted.
There had to be a way.
Finally, after another hour of lying in her arms, he managed to tear himself away from Serena’s bed. He put on his tuxedo pants and shirt and headed for the car after a series of long kisses goodbye. How amazing did Serena look, standing in the doorway in her little robe, a coffee cup in her hand as she waved him off? It almost felt like a wife kissing her husband goodbye as he went off to work.
He was over-romanticizing things. For starters, Serena wouldn’t be happy as a stay-at-home wife. It would probably leave her feeling too much like she wasn’t bringing home that bacon. He knew now how very important that was to her. But they couldn’t carry on like this at work. The office gossips would notice something sooner or later—and once she began to show, things would go viral in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to subject her to the rumor mill.
There had to be a way. The variables ran through his mind as he drove home. He was about to lose the company. She worked for him. A relationship was against company policy. But if he lost the company...
If he lost the company, he wouldn’t be her boss anymore. She might be out of a job, too, but at least they wouldn’t be violating any policy.
But then what? What was next? What did he want to do? That was what she’d asked him. Told him, in fact. Do what he wanted.
What was that?
Make beer, he realized. That was the best time he’d had at Beaumont Brewery—the year he’d spent making beer with the brewmasters. He liked beer. He knew a lot about it and had played a big role in selecting the seasonal drafts for the Percheron Drafts line of craft beers. What if...
What if he sold the brewery, but kept Percheron Drafts for himself, running it as a small private business? Beaumont would be dead, but the family history of brewing would live on in Percheron Drafts. He could be rid of his father’s legacy and run this new company the way he wanted to. It wouldn’t be Hardwick’s. It would be Chadwick’s.
He could hire Serena. She knew as much about what he did as anyone. And if they formed a new company, well, they could have a different company policy.
And if they got sixty-five dollars a share for the brewery...maybe he could walk into Helen’s lawyer’s office and make her that offer she couldn’t refuse. Everyone had a price, Matthew had said, and he was right. He quickly did the math.
If he liquidated a few extraneous possessions—cars, the jet, property, horses—he could make Helen an offer of $100 million to sign the papers. Even she wouldn’t be able to say no to a number like that. And he’d still have enough left over to re-incorporate Percheron Draf
ts.
As he thought about the horses, he realized this plan would only work if he did it on his own. He would get $50 million because he actually worked for the company. But his siblings would get about $15 to $20 million each. He couldn’t keep working for them. Serena had been right about that, too. If he took Percheron Drafts private, he would have to sever all financial ties with his siblings. He couldn’t keep footing the bill for extravagant purchases, and what’s more, he didn’t want to.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked this idea. He’d be done with Beaumont Brewery—free from his father’s ideas of how to run a company. Free to do things the way he wanted, to make the beer he wanted. It would be a smaller company, sure—one that wouldn’t be able to pay for the big mansion or the staff or the garage full of cars he rarely drove.
He’d have to downsize his life for a while, but would that really be such a horrible thing? Serena had lived small her entire life and she seemed quite happy—except for the pregnancy thing.
He wanted to give her everything he could—but he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with extravagance. If he gave her a job in a new company, paid her a good wage, made sure she had the kind of benefits she needed...
That was almost the same thing as giving her the world. That was giving her stability.
This could work. He’d call his lawyers when he got home and run the idea past them.
This had to work. He had to make this happen. Because it was what he wanted.
* * *
After Serena watched Chadwick’s sports car drive away, she tried not to think about what the neighbors would say about the late arrival and very late departure of such a vehicle.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t worry. What had she done? Besides have one of the most romantic nights in memory. A fancy dinner, glamorous gala, exquisite sex? It’d been like something out of a fairy tale, the poor little girl transformed into the belle of the ball.
How long had it been since she’d enjoyed sex that much? Things with Neil had been rote for a while. A long while, honestly. Something that they tried to do once a week—something that didn’t last very long or feel very good.
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