Chapter 52 Get away
Chapter 52 Get away
The pale golden light of the early morning sun filtered quietly through the linen drapes, painting warm, shimmering strips across the dark timber floor and the rumpled sheets of the queen-size bed. Rays of soft amber bathed the room in an ethereal glow, casting a quiet, angelic haze over the quiet sanctuary of the alcove.
Holland opened her eyes slowly, the deep, heavy fog of sleep clinging to her mind. She let out a yawn, letting herself lull in the peace and content she hadn't felt in a long while. God, this felt good. A profound, unfamiliar warmth encompassed her entire body, anchoring her completely in the moment. It was a sensation of absolute lightness, a lingering residual hum of contentment that seemed to settle deep into her bones, making her limbs feel pleasantly heavy and relaxed. Whatever it was, she loved feeling it, the solid, unyielding presence curled directly against her back.
An arm was draped over her waist, the hand resting heavy against Holland’s bare stomach while warm, subtle, rhythmic breathing fanned across the exposed skin of her shoulder blades in slow, comforting puffs of air.
For several suspended seconds, Holland didn't move. She allowed her chest to expand with a long, quiet exhale, sinking deeper into the soft feather mattress, her body yielding to the pure, unadulterated comfort wrapping around her like a protective mantle. The soft scent of lavender and clean linen clung to the sheets, mingling with the quiet warmth of the morning. From behind, the figure let out a low, sleepy moan, shifting slightly closer as those fingers stirred gently against Holland’s stomach. A pair of warm, smooth lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the bare curve of her shoulder, resting there with an effortless, quiet intimacy that made her skin flush warm.
The touch acted like a sudden electrical current shooting straight down Holland’s spine.
Sense slammed back into her mind with terrifying force. Holland went instantly motionless, every muscle in her body locking into place. Beneath the thin linen duvet, the direct contact of their bare skin sent an intense wave of exhilaration through her veins, closely followed by a cold, suffocating wave of blind panic.
She had just slept with...
No!
Holland cut the thought off before the sentence could fully form, refusing to let the undeniable truth sink into her consciousness. The weight of what had transpired in the dark alcove hung heavily in the morning air, threatening to crush the rigid, structured world she had spent years building. Every boundary she had carefully maintained, every wall of professional distance, lay scattered across the rumpled sheets of the bed.
Beside her, Camille let out a soft, contented groan, turning onto her other side and dragging the heavy duvet with her, burying herself completely in the warm fabric. The movement freed Holland’s bare legs, exposing her skin to the cool air of the suite.
Holland let out a quiet, trembling breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Turning to her side, her eyes fully saw the truth she was trying so hard to deny. Camille lay beside her.
Morning light spilled softly across the bed, catching the long, dark fan of Camille’s eyelashes resting against her cheekbones. Her features were completely relaxed in beautiful repose, stripped of their usual bold mischief, and now softened into something delicate and stunning. The golden glow traced the smooth, sun-kissed curve of her throat, dipping down to where the sheet clung loosely to her bare waist. Camille's dark hair was tumbled across the white pillow, wild and silk-soft, framing a face so striking in sleep that Holland’s chest tightened, a quiet, helpless ache rising beneath her ribs.
She was entirely unaware of the huge mistake they'd both made. No, that she had made for allowing this.
Why? Why had she let this happen.
Why had she allowed herself to reach for that warmth, to drown in the beauty of the woman lying right in front of her. Struggling, she tore her eyes away from the bare shoulder, from the curve of those lips that still carried the memory of the night, letting the truth sink in.
She moved with frantic care, sliding her legs over the edge of the mattress, making sure the frame didn't creak or shift enough to wake the sleeping woman behind her. Her feet touched the cold timber floor, sending a sudden chill up her ankles as she stood, gathering her clothes with shaking fingers before retreating toward the bathroom door.
As her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor, the chill of the morning air struck her bare skin, causing a violent shudder to run through her frame. Holland looked down at herself, taking in her state of complete undress, her eyes wide as her breathing turned shallow and erratic. The memory of the night, the touch, and the total surrender, flooded her mind all at once, each vivid detail igniting under her skin.
Oh my god.
Panic took absolute hold. She had to get away. Holland moved silently across the room, her hands trembling so severely she could barely grip her clothes scattered across the rug. She snatched her lace underwear from the floor, fumbling as she pulled them up her legs, almost losing her balance against the edge of the carved wooden bed frame. Her knees buckled slightly, the dark, carved oak pressing into her thigh as she caught herself, her breathing shallow and ragged in the quiet air of the suite. Her hands shook violently as she reached for her skirt, her fingers tangling in the heavy, tailored fabric as she forced her legs into them, her pulse roaring in her ears like a rushing tide.
She grabbed her silk blouse from where it had been discarded near the sleeping alcove, her eyes darting repeatedly toward the bed to make sure Camille remained asleep under the heavy linen duvet. Holland buttoned the pearl fasteners with completely uncoordinated fingers, missing a button twice before forcing it into place, her knuckles pale with tension against the delicate silk. The fabric felt cool and light against her heated skin, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth from the sheets. She didn't bother looking for her tailored blazer; she scooped it up along with her leather tote bag, her heels held tightly in her left hand as she backed away toward the suite’s heavy entrance door.
Holland pulled the door open, stepped into the carpeted hallway, and let the latch click shut behind her with a hushed click.
She leaned her back against the cool wall of the corridor for a single second, her chest heaving as she shoved her feet into her heels. The chilly plaster seeped through her thin blouse, anchoring her wild, racing thoughts for a brief breath in the dim passage. She adjusted her clothes with frantic, sweeping gestures, smoothing the rumpled silk and tugging her waistline into place, trying desperately to piece together her executive composure, though her hair remained tousled and her face flushed with an emotion she wanted buried deep in the abyss of her existence.
Turning on her heel, Holland marched down the grand hallway of the manor, her heels striking the runner in a rapid, uncharacteristic hurry. The sound echoed off the high, wood-paneled walls, a frantic cadence cutting through the silence of the early hour. Every second spent inside the estate felt dangerous, the air thick with the memory of the night behind her, urging her forward with a desperate, mounting force.
As she rounded the main staircase leading toward the lobby, a member of the estate’s morning staff paused in the middle of polishing a brass wall sconce. The middle-aged man turned, offering a warm, professional smile.
"Good morning, ma'am. I hope you enjoyed your stay—"
Holland kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, her face pale, unable to summon even a fraction of a polite response. She brushed past him without slowing her pace, pushing through the heavy glass doors of the manor estate and stepping out into the blinding, cool morning light, completely consumed by the chaos exploding in her mind.
The crisp air hit her lungs, but it brought no relief, only a heightened sense of exposure. She pulled her phone from her bag with trembling hands, her thumb frantically tapping the screen as she pulled up her driver's contact. Her breathing came shallow and fast, her eyes darting toward the manor's upper windows, terrified that any moment a figure would appear at the glass or the grand doors behind her would swing open. She pressed the phone to her ear, the line ringing endlessly, every second stretching into an unbearable eternity.
"Pick up... pick up..." Holland whispered under her breath, her voice breaking, her knuckles white as she squeezed the phone, willing the car to pull up before the quiet of the morning broke and Camille woke to find her gone.
The sun was already high in the sky, spilling thick streams of bright, golden light across the rumpled linen sheets of the queen-size bed. Camille stirred slowly, feeling a lingering, heavy warmth resting against her back. She let out a low, sleepy groan, her eyes still heavy with the haze of sleep.
"Chief..." she called out groggily, her voice raspy from the night before, waiting for the familiar, quiet shift of the woman beside her.
No answer came.
Groaning softly, Camille burrowed deeper into the plush feather pillow, turning onto her side. She stretched her arm out across the mattress, her palm sweeping across the fitted sheet to draw Holland back against her chest, only for her fingers to come up empty against the smooth, cool fabric.
The cold spot jolted the last remaining fuzziness of sleep straight out of Camille's mind. Her eyelids snapped open, and she shot up into a sitting position, the duvet pooling around her waist. Her dark eyes locked onto the empty pillow beside her, then scoured every corner of the sunlit room.
"No... No!" Camille let out, panic lacing her voice as she threw off the covers.
She stood up on bare feet, her chest rising and falling fast as her eyes darted across the floor. "Holland!" she called out, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "Chief!"
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Camille strode across the dark floorboards, her heart hammering against her ribs as she pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathroom. Her gaze swept over the pristine stone tiles, the untouched towels, the empty vanity.
Realization dawned on her with crushing weight. Holland had already left.
"No!" Camille breathed, her hands gripping the doorframe. How had she not felt her leave their bed? She had exhausted the woman last night, pouring every drop of passion into her, holding her close until her trembling body had finally surrendered to deep sleep. Camille had been certain that Holland would be too weak, too thoroughly claimed, to slip away before morning. But she had been wrong. The Chief had snuck out in the quiet hours, taking with her the one chance Camille had to ensure that their profound, shattering encounter wouldn't fracture the world between them.
Panic driving her movements, Camille scrambled around the room, hurriedly pulling on her clothes. She snatched her trousers off the rug, stepping into them with frantic haste, her fingers tangling in the fabric as her eyes searched the furniture. She grabbed her top, pulling it over her head, her hair wildly tousled as her gaze landed on the bedside table.
There, resting on the polished wood, were her car keys.
A quiet sound of relief broke from Camille's throat. If her keys were still here, Holland hadn't driven off in their shared rental. That meant there was still a chance, a real chance, that the Chief was still somewhere on the resort grounds.
She had to find her fast.
Fully dressed, Camille snatched her phone off the nightstand, the screen lighting up to reveal the time. She let out a frustrated groan. It was almost noon.
"Fuck!" she swore under her breath.
Holland was a strict, disciplined early bird. If hours had passed, was there any real chance she was still around? She had to be. Camille couldn't let her run away behind her iron walls after everything they had shared.
Grabbing her keys and phone, Camille sprinted toward the entrance, yanked the heavy suite door open, and darted out into the long corridor.