Chapter 135
Aveline
That dinner had been the most delicious and the most unsettling meal I'd had in months.
The food itself was perfection—perfectly grilled salmon with herbs that must have been picked minutes before cooking, vegetables so fresh they still had dirt clinging to their roots, and bread that was somehow both crusty and soft in exactly the right places. Orion had even arranged for the staff to bring out mason jars filled with homemade peach preserves, butter churned that morning, and honey still in the comb—the kind of rustic touches that would make any grandmother feel like she was being treated like visiting royalty.
But what made it truly bizarre was watching my sharp, discerning grandmother turn into a giggling schoolgirl under Orion Blackwell's charm offensive.
In the span of two hours, Grandma Eleanor had managed to:
- Inform him that I'd been valedictorian of my high school class
- Describe in excruciating detail how I'd once rescued a injured bird and nursed it back to health for three weeks when I was nine
- Share the embarrassing story about how I'd refused to wear anything but dinosaur costumes for an entire year when I was six
- And somehow work into conversation that I was "the most thoughtful, intelligent, and beautiful granddaughter any woman could ask for"
All while Orion listened with the kind of rapt attention usually reserved for state secrets.
What the hell was this man planning?
By evening, Orion had arranged what he called a "rustic campfire experience"—which, knowing him, probably involved imported Swedish timber and artisanal marshmallows. I'd gone to change into something more casual and was looking forward to a quiet evening by the fire.
Except when I went to find Grandma Eleanor, she was nowhere to be seen.
"Excuse me," I asked one of the housekeeping staff, "have you seen my grandmother?"
"Oh yes, Miss," the woman replied with a knowing smile. "She and young Master Ryan went down to the lake about an hour ago. Something about teaching him how to skip stones by moonlight. She said to tell you not to wait up for them."
I stood there for a moment, my mouth hanging open in disbelief.
That scheming, matchmaking, impossible woman had just abandoned me with Orion Blackwell under a romantic starlit sky. She'd literally thrown her granddaughter at a man she'd met exactly once, six hours ago.
And the worst part? Orion had somehow charmed her into being his willing accomplice.
When exactly had he become such an expert at winning over elderly ladies?
I considered marching down to the lake to retrieve my traitorous grandmother, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the wine from dinner, or maybe it was the way the evening air smelled like jasmine and woodsmoke, but I found myself walking toward the glow of the campfire instead.
I should have turned around the moment I saw him.
Orion was standing with his back to me, feeding logs into a fire that painted everything in warm gold and dancing shadows. He'd changed into dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that clung to his shoulders in ways that should be illegal. The firelight caught the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the confident set of his stance as he moved with the easy grace of a man completely comfortable in his own skin.
For a moment, he looked like something out of a dream—or maybe a very dangerous fantasy.
I must have made a sound, because he turned around and caught me staring.
"There you are," he said, his voice warm as honey. "I was beginning to think you'd escaped back to the city."
I was about to do exactly that—turn around and flee—when he gestured toward the sky above us.
"Look up, Aveline. When's the last time you saw stars like that?"
Against my better judgment, I tilted my head back. The sky was a masterpiece of deep velvet scattered with diamonds, the kind of perfect night that made city dwellers remember why people wrote poetry about the countryside.
"It's beautiful," I admitted, then immediately stepped backward when I realized how close he'd moved. "But I know what you're doing, Orion. This whole weekend—the perfect meal, charming my grandmother, the romantic campfire—it's all very calculated. Very deliberate."
I crossed my arms, trying to look stern despite the way the firelight was making everything feel dreamlike and surreal. "So whatever you're planning to say—some grand declaration about being in love with me or wanting to sweep me off my feet—just don't. Save us both the embarrassment."
Orion moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixing with the woodsmoke. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost casual, but there was something underneath it that made my pulse quicken.
"I'm not planning any grand declarations," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "I just wanted to spend some time with you. Alone. It's been far too long since we've had a real conversation without interruptions or complications."
There was something in his tone—not exactly innocent, but not entirely predatory either. Like he was telling the truth, but not the whole truth.
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," I said, trying to inject steel into my voice, "but I'm not interested in whatever this is. I don't like you, Orion. I don't want to be alone with you, and I certainly don't want—"
He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The firelight turned his eyes into something dark and dangerous.
"You know," he said conversationally, "the thing about liking or not liking someone is that it's not really about what you say."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Don't you dare tell me—"
Before I could finish the sentence, his mouth was on mine.
"It's about what you feel," he murmured against my lips, and then he was kissing me with the kind of intensity that made the entire world disappear.
My brain short-circuited completely. Every rational thought I'd ever had about keeping my distance from Orion Blackwell evaporated in the space of a heartbeat. His hands were in my hair, his mouth was demanding and sure, and my body was responding like it had been waiting for this moment for years.
I kissed him back with a desperation that should have terrified me, my hands fisting in his sweater, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Heat shot through me like electricity, making me forget every reason I had for staying away from him.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I realized I was trembling.
And from the satisfied look in his eyes, he'd noticed too.
"So," he said quietly, his thumb tracing along my jaw, "still want to tell me how much you don't like me?"