POV Shane
The car door barely closes before her mouth finds mine again.
Nine years. I've spent nine years searching for this woman, measuring every kiss against a memory I couldn't fully trust.
Now she's pressed against me in the backseat of a car, her fingers threading through my hair, and every comparison I ever made feels like an insult to what's actually happening.
"I can't believe it's you." The words escape between kisses, my hands tracing the curve of her waist through silk that's already wrinkling beneath my grip. "All this time, you were right there. The ghost I've been chasing has been haunting my boardrooms and driving me insane with her chaos, and I never—"
"Stop talking." Audrey's laugh vibrates against my lips, her teeth catching my lower lip in a way that makes me groan. "You've done enough talking for one evening. Some things are better expressed without words, don't you think?"
Her hand slides down my chest, fingers finding the buttons of my shirt with deliberate slowness. I bite back another sound as her palm presses flat against my stomach, the heat of her touch searing through the fabric.
"Audrey, we're in a moving vehicle. The driver is pretending very hard not to notice what's happening back here, and I'm about thirty seconds from making that pretense impossible to maintain."
"Then I suppose you'll have to exercise some of that famous Reed self-control." Her smile is wicked in the dim light, her blue eyes holding mine as her hand drifts lower. "You've spent weeks telling me how disciplined you are, how calculated, how perfectly composed. Prove it."
The challenge lands exactly where she intended—somewhere between my pride and my desperation. I capture her mouth again, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other traces the line of her spine. The driver keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead, professional neutrality radiating from his rigid shoulders.
The hotel appears through the window like salvation.
We separate just long enough to exit the car, my hand finding the small of her back as we cross the lobby. Every step feels like an eternity. Every second without her lips on mine registers as loss.
The elevator doors close behind us.
I have her against the wall before the first floor chimes past, my body pressing the full length of hers, her gasp of surprise dissolving into something hungrier as my mouth finds her neck.
"I can't hold back anymore." The confession comes out rough, stripped of the composure I've spent years perfecting. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw those stars at the gallery. Since the moment I realized who you actually were. I'm ready to undress you right here, right now, and I don't particularly care who might be watching when these doors open."
Her laugh carries the warmth of martini and desire, slightly breathless from the press of my hips against hers. "We have to wait. Just a little longer, Shane. Think of the scandal if the elevator cameras caught Seattle's most eligible CEO in such a compromising position."
But even as she says the words, her hands find my belt. Her fingers trace the leather, then lower, palming the evidence of exactly how much waiting I'm capable of. The groan that escapes me echoes off the elevator walls.
"You're not playing fair." My forehead drops to her shoulder, my breath coming ragged as she continues her exploration. "You've never played fair, have you? Not at prom, not at dinner, not once during this entire arrangement."
"Fair is for people who have something to lose." Her lips brush my ear, her voice a whisper that makes my entire body tighten. "I've been losing for nine years, Shane. Tonight, I plan to win."
The elevator doors open on the penthouse floor.
The walk to our suite takes approximately fifteen seconds. It feels like hours. My hands shake slightly as I swipe the keycard, and then we're through the door and her mouth is on mine again.
I work the buttons of her blouse while she attacks my tie, both of us moving with urgent efficiency. Her trousers pool at her feet as my jacket hits the floor. Shirt buttons scatter—neither of us cares enough to track where they land.
She stands before me in delicate black lace, curves and shadows and skin I've dreamed about for nearly a decade. The sight stops my breath in my throat.
"You look like a god." Her voice carries genuine wonder, her eyes traveling down my bare chest to where my trousers hang low on my hips. "An actual, literal god descended to corrupt a mortal woman. It's deeply unfair."
"You are the goddess here." I close the distance between us slowly, savoring every second. "And I feel like I might lose consciousness from your charm alone. Before anything else happens, I need you to know—I have never wanted anyone the way I want you right now. Not before that night. Certainly not after."
Her laugh softens into something tender. "Then stop talking and prove it."
I lift her in one motion, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward my bedroom. Her mouth never leaves mine, small sounds escaping her lips that make me nearly stumble twice.
The mattress catches us both.
Her hands immediately find my belt again, working the leather free with determined focus. The zipper follows, and then her palm wraps around me through the thin barrier of my remaining clothing. I groan into her neck, the sound muffled against her skin.
"My turn." I shift my attention to the delicate lace covering her, working the clasps with fingers that have suddenly forgotten every fine motor skill I've ever possessed. The bra falls away. The matching piece follows, and then she's bare beneath me—every curve, every shadow, every inch of skin I've imagined for years finally within reach.
I remove the last of my own clothing without breaking eye contact, then bend to worship her properly.
My lips trace a path down her sternum, between her breasts, across the soft plane of her stomach. She arches beneath me, fingers tangling in my hair as I continue lower. When my mouth finally reaches its destination, her moan echoes through the bedroom with gratifying intensity.
"Shane—" Her voice breaks on my name. "That's—oh God, that's—"
"Tell me what you want." I pause just long enough to meet her eyes. "I promised to please you. I keep my promises."
"Don't stop. Please, don't stop, I need—"
I give her exactly what she needs. My tongue works in deliberate patterns, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her curse, what makes her grip the sheets like she's trying to anchor herself to reality. When she finally shatters, my name tears from her throat like a prayer.
I don't give her time to recover.
Rising over her, I position myself at her entrance, holding her gaze as I push forward slowly. The sensation steals coherent thought—hot and tight and perfect in ways that exceed every fantasy I've ever entertained.
"Look at me." The command comes out hoarse. "I want to see your face while I'm inside you."
Her eyes lock with mine, and I begin to move.
The rhythm builds gradually, our bodies finding synchronization that feels almost predetermined. Her nails rake down my back as I increase the pace, her moans harmonizing with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
"Turn over." The request emerges rougher than I intended, but she complies immediately, presenting a view that makes my vision blur at the edges. "God, you're beautiful from every angle. I could spend the rest of my life just looking at you."
I enter her again from behind, the new position allowing me to drive deeper. Her cries intensify, my own groans joining hers as we chase something that feels inevitable.
We don't stop at once.
The night stretches around us, filled with whispered confessions and tangled limbs. The city lights continue glittering beyond the windows, but we've stopped paying attention to anything beyond each other.
Eventually, exhaustion claims us both. She curls against my chest, her breathing evening into sleep, and I watch the rise and fall of her shoulders in the dim light.
Nine years of searching. Nine years of comparing every woman to a ghost who vanished before dawn.
She's here now. Real and warm and mine in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
My eyes drift closed, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I fall asleep without dreaming of constellations.
They're already in my arms.