Chapter 37: Thank You

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—God, if anything, that was the problem.

Because she trusted him so easily. Too easily.

And if she told him the full truth, he’d take over. Protect. Handle. Carry.

He already was.

This entire trip was proof of that.

The house, the private chef, the full weekend carved out like she mattered more than his business empire.

And for the first time… she wasn’t annoyed about being cared for like that.

She wanted it. Craved it.

She wanted him.

Not just his hands or his mouth or his ridiculous possessiveness.

But all of it.

His command. His control. His intensity. The way he anchored her even as he turned her inside out.

She wasn’t ready to say the words yet—but they were there, coiled under her skin.

She wanted to be his.

In every way.

And that truth hit her hard enough she had to move. Had to do something with it.

Kai pushed up from the sand slowly, not turning as the footsteps behind her neared. She heard him. She always heard him. Like her nervous system was rewired to sense when James was near.

She didn’t stop walking. Didn’t speak.

Just reached up and pulled her sundress over her head, baring herself to the night and the man she could feel watching her.

The fabric slipped off her fingertips and fell to the sand like surrender.

She stepped into the water—cold, electric—and kept going until it wrapped around her thighs.

And then she dove beneath the surface.

The silence beneath the waves was instant. Sharp. Sacred.

Her body floated in suspension. Her hair fanned out around her, and for a moment—just a breath—she let herself go still.

The pressure of James’ kiss still burned on her mouth.

The ache in her muscles hummed like a lesson not quite learned.

And her heart—traitorous, soft, stubborn—beat out the truth she hadn’t admitted aloud yet.

She wanted to submit to him.

Not out of fear.

Not out of obligation.

But because if this was what his care looked like—if this tenderness was just the beginning—she could get used to being his.

She kicked off the sand and broke the surface, gasping in air and salt and the cool night sky. Water streamed down her body, and her eyes went straight to the shore.

He was there.

Still. Watching. Waiting.

Kai didn’t call out.

Didn’t wave.

She didn’t need to.

Because just like the tide always found its way back to the shore, he always came for her.

The water clung to her skin like silk as she walked out of the surf. She dragged the sundress up her body without taking her eyes off him, the fabric sticking to her damp thighs as she slipped it over her shoulders.

James didn’t say a word.

He simply held out a hand.

And she went to him.

No questions. No protest. No hiding.

She let her fingers slide into his and felt the warmth of him pulse straight up her arm, grounding her in a way no amount of ocean ever could.

He pulled her in gently, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face, his thumb lingering along her cheekbone. His voice was low, intimate.

“Come have a bath with me.”

There was no command in it. Just an offering. An invitation.

And she nodded.

She didn’t care that her skin was still wet or that sand clung to the backs of her calves. Didn’t care about the dress sticking to her or the fact she probably looked like a drowned kitten.

She just…wanted to be near him.

Wanted to let this softness wrap around her the way the sea had just done.

James led her through the house with his hand still in hers, and she let him. It felt like surrender—but not the kind that left her powerless. The kind that let her breathe.

The bathroom was warm and dim, lit with a few low lights and flickering candles he must have lit before dinner. The wide, freestanding tub was already filling, steam rising up like a whispered promise.

Kai stood in place while he turned off the tap. Then he turned to her.

Wordlessly, his fingers slipped under the hem of her dress and pulled it up, slow and reverent, exposing inch after inch of damp skin. She let him. Goosebumps prickled her flesh—not from the cool air, but from his gaze. The way he saw her. Touched her. Undressed her like she was made of spun sugar and secrets.

Once she was bare, he took his time unbuttoning his shirt. Then his pants, placing it all on the vanity like he was shedding the rest of the world right along with it.

He climbed into the tub first and reached for her again.

Kai followed, letting him guide her in. Her back nestled against his chest as the water enveloped them both, soft and perfumed and impossibly still.

His arms slid around her middle, pulling her close. One hand resting on her belly. The other threading slowly through her damp hair again and again. Just like he had on the drive here.

She closed her eyes.

Let herself lean into him.

“You don’t let yourself rest,” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “But I’m going to keep doing this until it sinks in. Until your body understands it doesn’t have to hold everything all the time.”

She swallowed, the knot in her throat tightening.

“I’m learning,” she whispered, not sure if it was true yet, but wanting it to be.

“Good.” He kissed her shoulder, his hand gliding gently over her hip beneath the surface of the water. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He took his time.

Every touch was gentle. Every kiss unhurried.

He washed her body with care, hands slow and tender. He ran his fingers down her arms, her ribs, between her thighs—exploring, coaxing, not claiming. And when she turned in the water to straddle him, resting her forehead against his, he just held her there.

No rush. No urgency.

He was still hard when he finally eased into her, but even that was slow—so slow it made her breath catch. Made her chest ache.

He moved like he was trying to convince her she was safe. Like every stroke was a promise: I’ve got you. I’ll carry it with you. You’re not alone.

Her nails bit into his shoulders. Her mouth opened on a gasp. And when she came, it was quiet—trembling, quiet, undone.

He held her through it, kissing her temple as she sagged against him.

And when she whispered, “Thank you,” it came from somewhere deep. Somewhere true.

Because for the first time in days, maybe weeks…

She felt cared for.

Not just seen.

Not just needed.

Loved.

And she didn’t want to run from it anymore. Not now or ever.