Page 75 of The Sugar Maple Inn

The sound she made—desperate and surprised and overwhelmed—shattered what was left of Reese’s control. He buried his face in her neck and let himself go, too, finally allowing himself to drive into her harder, faster, chasing his own release. Her body clenched around him. Her hands clutched at his back. And when he came, it hit him like a freight train, harder and deeper than he’d expected.

For a moment, they just stayed there. Connected and breathing hard, and he stared into her eyes. She looked peaceful. None of that defensive sharpness she wore like armor.

Damn it.

He liked Grace. Really liked her.

It wasn’t only about the sex, though that had been incredible. Nor was it only about the way she looked or the challenge she presented. But her.

It made him want to give her this place.

It made him want to let Grace win.

Christ. What was happening to him?

Tomorrow, the world beyond the tower would be waking up and this could go one of two ways. He could regret what just happened. Could put the walls back up. Could decide this was a mistake that couldn’t be repeated.

Or…

Maybe this time could be different.

Maybe, for once, Reese could want someone and not destroy them in the process.

Maybe Grace Sullivan was exactly the kind of impossible thing worth fighting for.

Twenty-Eight

Grace

Grace listened to Reese’s heartbeat doing its best impression of a drum solo. The man was clearly grappling with something. But whether it was the earth-shattering realization that he wasn’t actually in control of everything or regret that he’d just slept with the woman competing for his property, Grace couldn’t quite tell.

She hoped it was the losing control part. Had watched it happen in real-time after all: the way his carefully measured rhythm had dissolved into something frantic and desperate, the way he’d buried his face in her neck and groaned. And that final moment: muscles locked, body shaking, her name ripped from his throat like a confession he hadn’t meant to make.

Yeah. She’d definitely seen it. Had felt it, too. Had filed it away in her mental highlight reel under “Things That Will Ruin Me For Other Men.”

Reese Spencer—billionaire, competitor, alpha—had completely lost control.

Because of her.

He pulled away from her, kissed her forehead and dealt with the condom, then pulled her against his chest.

“So Grace Sullivan,” he said, his grin cocky, “tell me more how I just changed your sexual life.”

She swatted him but smiled anyway, settling into his arms again, her head on his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

“It’s not exactly hard to be impressive when the competition is literally nobody for the past twelve years. Single motherhood isn’t exactly a magnet for quality men. Or any men, really.” She traced lazy patterns on his chest. “Turns out most guys aren’t into the whole ‘comes with a kid and crippling debt’ package.”

“Their loss.” He said it simply, like it was a fact. “So how many men have had the privilege I just enjoyed?”

“Are we really doing this? The ‘what’s your number’ thing?”

“It’s universal pillow talk. Plus…I’m curious.”

She groaned. “Fine. But you’re going first.”

“Ladies first.”