Page 20 of Cupid's Beau

“Want to see the rest of the house?” he asks when we’re done eating and cleaning up. At my nod, he adds, “Bring a jacket. Part of the tour is outside.”

The house is insane - a media room, a small gym, terraces that lead to the water. But it’s when we step outside that I truly understand why he loves this place.

A path winds through tall pines, leading us along the rocky coastline. The February air is crisp, carrying the scent of salt and snow. Jack walks close beside me, occasionally steadying me on the uneven ground, each touch sending warmth through me despite the cold.

“This is my favorite spot,” he says as we reach a natural clearing. The view here is breathtaking - endless ocean on all sides, his house perched on the cliff behind us.

He stands close enough that I feel his body heat. The wind whips my hair around my face. He reaches out to help with my hair, and suddenly the warm atmosphere shifts into something more heated. His fingers thread through my curls, and I catch the way his breath hitches when I lean into his touch.

This time, when we kiss, there’s no hesitation. No careful testing of boundaries. Just the heat of his mouth on mine, his large, strong hands pulling me closer, my fingers gripping his sweater. The cold air, the ocean view, everything else fades away except the feel of him, solid and warm against me. Fucking intoxicating. I can’t get enough of the taste of him, his scent.

Jack’s hands slide to my hips as he deepens the kiss, and I make a small sound that seems to spark something wild in him. He walks me backward until I’m pressed against a tree, shelteredfrom the wind, completely surrounded by him. His hips rolling into mine. And I can feel him. Hard, big. Fucking dizzying.

“We should probably head back,” I manage breathlessly.

“Probably,” he rasps out in an almost growl, but he makes no move. His mouth trails down my neck, as I arch into him.

“It’s freezing out here,” I try again.

Jack lifts his head, and the heat in his eyes completely makes me forget about the cold. God, he’s beautiful. Tall, strong, with his hair disheveled and his cheeks reddened by the icy wind. Breathing heavily. Looking at me like he’s ready to fucking devour me.

“Then let’s go inside.”

Our walk back is charged with anticipation. Every brush of his hand against mine, every glance we exchange, builds the tension higher.

Once we get inside, he shrugs off his jacket, then helps me with mine, his fingers lingering on my shoulders. The great room is bathed in late afternoon light, the fireplace casting a warm glow.

“I should…” I gesture vaguely upstairs, even though leaving is the last thing I want to do.

“Stay,” he says softly.

And of course I do.

The massive leather sofa faces floor-to-ceiling windows, now dark mirrors reflecting the firelight. Jack moves to the kitchen, and I watch his reflection as he makes tea, the easy grace of himmoving through his space in socks, reaching for mugs from high cabinets.

He sets our steaming mugs on the coffee table and sinks into the cushions next to me, close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Want to watch something?” he asks, reaching for the remote.

I tuck my feet under me, trying not to focus on how the firelight plays across his features. Making an already gorgeous man look even more striking. His eyes, his high cheekbones, that full mouth, and cut jawline. Lord…

I try for lightness. “Wait - is this where you reveal you secretly love romcoms?”

“Not exactly.” He’s smiling as he scrolls through his library. “Though I did direct one.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.”

He groans. “Of course you have.”

“Three times, actually.”

Jack gives me a deadpan look and I laugh. He joins in - a deep, rich sound that makes my stomach do ridiculous things.

As the movie ends, I’m very aware of every small movement he makes, every time he shifts. How close we are sitting. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. When he gets up to add another log, he must have pressed some discreetly installed button because music starts playing softly from hiddenspeakers - something jazzy and low. He turns back, and in the dim light his eyes are impossibly blue.

Jack holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”

I set my mug down and slip my hand into his, feeling warm and fuzzy all over. He pulls me up and into his arms in one fluid motion, closer than when we danced before. His big, warm hand settles on my lower back, and I let myself melt against him as we sway to the music.

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