Chapter 76
Serena
The first thing I felt was warmth.
Not the gentle, cozy warmth of blankets and morning sun, but something deeper, more visceral—the phantom sensation of hard muscle beneath my palms as I'd traced the defined ridges of his abdomen, fingers mapping every carved line. The firm curve of his ass flexing under my grip as I'd pulled him harder against me, nails digging into that perfect flesh.
My fingers curled instinctively, seeking that warmth again, finding only empty sheets.
I made a small sound of frustration. God, the way his hands had gripped my waist, fingers digging in just hard enough to make me gasp. The scrape of his jaw against my throat, his mouth tracing a path down my neck. Then the delicious, overwhelming pressure as he'd finally pushed inside, filling me completely, stretching me until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began. The slow, deliberate thrust of his hips, the way he'd groaned my name against my skin as he'd sunk deeper, claiming every inch—
"You know, most people don't make those kinds of sounds unless they're thinking about someone very specific."
My eyes snapped open.
Chloe sat perched on the edge of the bed, chin resting in her hands, watching me with the delighted expression of someone who'd just witnessed something absolutely fascinating. Her hair was already done, makeup perfect, looking annoyingly put-together for—I squinted at the alarm clock—eight in the morning.
"Jesus Christ." I bolted upright, immediately regretting it as my head throbbed in protest. "How long have you been sitting there?"
"Long enough." Her grin widened. "Wet dream, huh? Must have been a good one based on all the... noises you were making."
Heat flooded my face so fast I probably looked like a tomato. "I wasn't making noises."
"Oh, you absolutely were. Lots of sighing. Some moaning. At one point you said 'yes' in a very enthusiastic way that made me consider leaving the room."
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. "I hate you."
She caught it easily, laughing. "No you don't. And for the record? I totally understand the appeal. If I'd been carried home by Lance Lawson last night, I'd be having some very interesting dreams too."
My hand froze halfway to rubbing my temples. "What?"
"Oh my God." Chloe's eyes went wide with glee. "You don't remember, do you?"
"Remember what?" But even as I asked, fragments were starting to surface—wine, lots of wine, Lance's shoulder under my cheek, the backseat of a car, someone's arms around me—
"You were completely wasted," Chloe said, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Like, stumbling, slurring, grabbing-people-inappropriately wasted. Which, honestly? I've been waiting for since we met, because Serena Vance drunk is apparently Serena Vance with zero filter and it's glorious."
I pressed both hands to my face. "Oh God. What did I do?"
"Well, first you made Lance carry you up four flights of stairs because the elevator was 'too boring.'" She was grinning now, really grinning. "But before that? Oh, before that, you gave quite the speech about his back muscles."
"I did not—"
"Oh, you absolutely did." Chloe cleared her throat, clearly preparing for a performance. "And I quote: 'Oh, Lance, I know everyone talks about your chest, and yes, your chest is magnificent, truly magnificent—but your back? Your back is criminally underrated. It's like a work of art. Like Michelangelo's David but, you know, from behind. I've been wanting to run my hands down it for weeks. Maybe my tongue too—'"
"STOP." I lunged for her, but she danced away, still laughing.
"'—and I've always wondered what it would feel like to be pressed against your back, or maybe on your back, riding you like—'"
"Chloe, I swear to God—"
"'—so could you carry me? Please? I promise I'll behave. Well, I'll try to behave. No promises though because your back is just so—'"
I buried my face in my hands, dying of mortification. "Please tell me you're making this up."
"I wish I was." She flopped back onto the bed beside me, still grinning. "And you know the best part? He actually did it. Just scooped you up like you weighed nothing and carried you up all those stairs. I offered to help but he looked at me like I'd suggested something obscene."
"He was probably horrified."
"Oh, he was something." Chloe's expression turned thoughtful. "But horrified isn't the word I'd use. His eyes—God, Serena, his eyes were intense. Like dangerous-intense. Like 'I could destroy you but I'm choosing not to' intense." She paused. "But the way he held you? So careful. Like you were something precious. You were squirming and grabbing at him the whole time and he just... let you. Didn't say a word. Just carried you straight to the guest room and put you down so gently I actually got a little emotional."
Something warm and terrifying bloomed in my chest. "He didn't seem angry?"
"Angry?" Chloe laughed. "Babe, he looked like a man at war with himself. Like he wanted to simultaneously strangle you and kiss you senseless." She sat up. "Honestly, if I'd had my phone ready, I would've taken pictures. The whole thing was—"
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting her off.
I grabbed it, still processing everything Chloe had just told me, and felt my stomach drop when I saw Lance's name on the screen.
Lance: Your alcohol tolerance is abysmal. If you're going to invite me to dinner again, maybe skip the wine. Or the dinner. Preferably both.
I winced. Professional. Cold. Exactly what I deserved after—
Another message appeared.
Lance: Also, my back is killing me. Four flights of stairs. You're lucky I go to the gym.
Despite my mortification, I felt my lips twitch. Was that... was he joking?
A third message popped up.
Lance: Found this while doing some research this morning. Thought you might want it.
An attachment. I opened it with shaking fingers and found myself staring at a comprehensive financial breakdown of Vance Heritage—every debt, every asset, every cash flow problem laid out in meticulous detail. The kind of analysis that would have taken me days to compile. He'd done it in a night.
One more message appeared below it.
Lance: If you're serious about leaving my company to run your own, prove it. Show me you can actually pull this off. Otherwise, I expect you in the office Monday morning at 9 AM sharp.