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Excerpt

Gage stretched, rolling his shoulders before turning to her. “I’m getting another drink. You want anything?”

She shook her head. “I don’t drink more than one glass. So, I’m fine. Thank you.”

He nodded once. Then he was gone, slipping into the crowd.

Bea leaned back in her seat, taking the moment to enjoy this surreal experience she was now living. The play. The atmosphere. Gage’s presence beside her.

When he returned, he took his coat off before sitting down again. The drink in his hand caught the light.

“Is that a Coke?” she asked, smiling.

“One’s enough for tonight,” he said cryptically.

He probably wasn’t saying he skipped the champagne because of her. She definitely shouldn’t take it that way.

Her stomach did something ridiculous anyway.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Gage said, tilting his head toward the front.

Bea caught the trace of something soft in his expression. Fondness. A touch of pride.

“She is,” she agreed sincerely. Then, after a moment, she added, “You’re a good cousin, you know that?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not exactly surprised. Just curious.”

Gage rested his arm next to hers. Only the fabric of his shirt separated their bare skin, which was touching from wrist to elbow. Goosebumps raced down before she could stop them. “I’m a King. She’s an Ashcroft.”

She had to swallow twice to make sure she had enough voice to speak. “And that means?”

“She got to play,” Gage said simply. “I didn’t.”

Those words brought her attention back to him.

No bitterness. Undiluted fact.

Bea ventured, “And you want to make sure she still can?”

For a moment, she thought he might let the question hang. But then, he said, simply, “Yes.” No elaboration. No unnecessary sentiment.

Bea offered a gentle smile. “That’s…really nice.”

Gage went still. Then, a quiet exhale—almost a laugh, almost something else. “No one’s ever called me nice before.”

Bea blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

His lips curved, slow and knowing. “You did.” He took a leisurely sip of his Coke, gaze never leaving hers. “I’ll correct that.”

Her breath caught, the space between them tightening.

She paused.

Then carefully, she wondered, “You don’t want me to think you’re nice?”

Gage tilted his head slightly, the barest shift in posture. “Nice isn’t the word I want in your mouth when you think of me.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second, before flicking back to hers. “But I can think of a few that will be.”

So much for Act II. Her brain had officially left the building.

***

She hadn’t said much since he’d told her what he wanted in her mouth.

Gage didn’t mind the silence. He’d already said enough.

He hadn’t expected a reply, just tension. And that, she gave him freely.

Bea sat beside him, posture careful. Hands folded in her lap. Eyes forward. Like pretending he wasn’t there might help. But he could feel her attention, thrumming under all that stillness.

He reached for the water bottle in the center console. His knuckles skimmed her knee.

Not an accident.

She stiffened. Didn’t move. Just sat there, trying to act unaffected.

He took a sip. The smile pulled, but he kept it buried.

“You’re quiet,” he said, remembering how she’d opened the conversation on the way.

“So are you.”

“Do you want me to say something?”

“Not if it’s going to be one of your smug comments.”

That tone. The nippy edge of it. She was rattled and trying to assert control. He liked the effort. Liked watching her response to him.

They pulled up to Mayfield Hall. He let the engine idle.

She didn’t reach for the door.

His eyes dropped to her knee, remembering the way she’d frozen at his touch, yet she hadn’t pulled away. He wanted to test that again.

“Enjoy the night?” he asked.

She looked at him at last. Not sure what he meant. He’d left it vague on purpose. “Yes,” she said carefully. “Georgie’s play was great.”

“And the company?”

He watched her sort through the question, weighing her answer in real time. “Acceptable.”

He almost smiled. She was wound tight now. Pretending it didn’t show.

Gage leaned across her. Slow. Deliberate.

Knew the second she stopped breathing.

He unbuckled her seat belt, catching the latch before it snapped back. His fingers grazed her collarbone, her shoulder. The barest contact.

She was trying so hard not to crack.

“We’re here,” he whispered.

She exhaled. Sharp.

His own breath had shortened, but he ignored it. Want didn’t dictate timing.

“Go inside, Bea. Before you change your mind.”

She hesitated. Only for a second. Then nodded, opened the door, and left without looking back.

He waited until she disappeared through the glass, then shifted into gear.

He’d have to earn every inch. She wasn’t going to come to him easily. Good. He was built for exactly this.

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About the Author

I started writing during one of the hardest seasons of my life, because I needed to escape.

The worlds that welcomed me were always the same: places where bad things happened, but the ending was guaranteed to be happy.

Since high school, I've always had handwritten scenes and ideas in notebooks, saved as drafts on my computer, or notes on my phone. I grew up on Austen, Gaskell, and AoGG, but when I stumbled upon historical romance in my local library I was hooked on those brooding, competent, deeply loyal alphas who would do anything for their heroine.

So imagine my delight when I discovered billionaire romance and realized: DUKES STILL EXIST. They just wear Tom Ford now and run global empires.

If you're like me and crave dominant, protective men who fall hard for the woman who changes everything, welcome. I don’t write about any man I wouldn’t obsess over myself.

Yes, I love steam, but not for steam's sake. I want you to SWOON and LAUGH and CRY and ACHE as you journey with these characters. I want us to FEEL the romance build.

Because in life, we don't always get happily ever after. But in my books, my heroines get everything they ever dreamed of...and more.

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