Serena’s POV
The mont the door closed behind us, regret crashed over like a tidal wave. What was I thinking, inviting Ryan Blackwood into my room?
The man who had shattered my heart and left to pick up the pieces alone.
But it was too late now. He stood in the center of my suite, tall and imposing, his presence filling every corner of the room. His eyes swept over the space—noting my open laptop on the desk, the design sketches spread across the desk.
"Nice décor," he said, breaking the silence.
I hugged myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Thanks... it’s all thanks to the money you gave ."
He went silent, his expression unreadable, and the pause seed to stretch. My stomach tightened, unsure if I’d said too much, or not enough.
"Dreamland’s doing well, then." His tone was casual, almost deliberately so."
"We manage," I replied stiffly, unsure what to do with my hands, with myself. "Would you like sothing to drink? There’s a minibar."
Ryan shook his head, his gaze never leaving . "I’m fine."
Another awkward silence stretched between us. I moved to gather the sketches from the desk, needing sothing to occupy my trembling hands.
"These are beautiful," he said, stepping closer to examine one of the designs I’d left on the nightstand. "For the winter collection?"
"Yes," I answered, surprised he rembered. "How did you know?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The snowflake motif. "
"Oh... yes." I turned away, placing the sketches on the desk. I just didn’t know how to face him—every ti I saw him, the mory of what happened in the elevator ca rushing back.
"Serena," Ryan’s voice was closer now. "Look at ."
I forced myself to turn around. He stood just a foot away, close enough that I could sll his cologne—the sa one he’d worn for years, woodsy and warm.
"Why did you ask to stay?" he asked quietly.
I swallowed hard. "I told you. I was still shaken from the elevator."
"Bullshit," he said, though his tone remained gentle. "You’ve never needed anyone to hold your hand through a crisis. Least of all ."
My eyes narrowed. "Then why did you accept the invitation?"
"Because I’ve been waiting two years for you to give even the smallest opening," he admitted, his honesty disarming . "And I’m selfish enough to take it, even if you regret it tomorrow."
"I regret it already," I whispered.
Ryan took another step forward, close enough now that I had to tilt my head to maintain eye contact. "Do you? Really?"
My breath caught in my throat. "I should."
"But you don’t."
His hand ca up slowly, giving plenty of ti to back away. When I didn’t, his fingers brushed along my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I’ve missed you," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that I felt more than heard. "Every fucking day."
"Don’t," I warned, even as I leaned imperceptibly into his touch. "Don’t say things you don’t an."
His eyes darkened. "I’ve said many things I didn’t an, Serena. But never that."
My body betrayed , responding to his proximity like it always had—heart racing, skin warming, breath quickening. I stepped back, bumping into the desk behind .
"You did that to yourself," I reminded him, though my words held less bite than intended.
"I know." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "Christ, Serena, don’t you think I know that? I’ve replayed every mistake in my head a thousand tis."
"No," I said softly, my gaze locking with his. "You just can’t stand to let go. You’re too proud for that."
He closed the distance between us in two long strides, his hands gripping my shoulders.
"Is that what you believe?" His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.
I tried to look away, but he caught my chin between his fingers, forcing to et his gaze.
"Answer , Serena."
"What else was I supposed to think?" I whispered, hating the vulnerability in my voice.
Without warning, his mouth crashed down on mine, desperate and demanding. Then hiis hands slid down my back, gripping my hips and pulling flush against him.
I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him.But instead, he ignited my desire with disarming ease.
"Does it feel different now?" he growled against my lips, one hand tangling in my hair.
I gasped as he backed against the wall, his body hard and unyielding against mine. His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
"Ryan," I breathed, my head falling back, giving him better access.
"Say it again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Say my na."
"Ryan," I repeated, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He lifted suddenly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried to the bed. We fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing.
His hands were everywhere—under my blouse, skimming my ribs, cupping my breast through the lace of my bra. Each touch ignited a fire that had been smoldering for years.
"I’ve missed you," he confessed against my collarbone, his breath hot on my skin. "Every fucking day."
I arched into his touch, too far gone to deny the truth. "I’ve missed you too."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at . "Let show you," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "Let prove how much I want you. Only you."
His fingers worked the buttons of my blouse, exposing more skin with each one. When he’d undone them all, he pushed the fabric aside, his gaze hungry as it swept over .
"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to the swell of my breast above my bra. "So fucking beautiful."
I reached up, my fingers trembling as I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abdon. My nails scraped lightly down his torso, savoring his sharp intake of breath.
When he kissed again, it was slower, deeper—a kiss that spoke of possession and promise. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher until his fingers brushed against the edge of my underwear.
"Tell you want this," he demanded, his voice rough with restraint. "Tell you want ."
"I want you," I admitted, the words torn from sowhere deep inside . "God help , I still want you."
With a groan, he captured my mouth again, his tongue tangling with mine as his fingers slipped beneath the lace barrier.
I gasped at the intimate touch, my body instantly responding to him as though we’d never been apart.
He knew exactly how to touch , how to make tremble and moan. My hips rose to et his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.
"That’s it, baby," he encouraged, his lips trailing down my neck. "Let go for ."
I was close—so close—when a sudden realization hit like a bucket of ice water. The doctor’s words from earlier today echoed in my mind: "Congratulations! You’re going to be a mom."
I was pregnant. And Ryan had no idea.
With a gasp, I pushed against his chest. "Wait—Ryan, stop."
To his credit, he froze imdiately, though his breathing was ragged and his eyes were dark with unfulfilled desire.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, concern replacing the passion in his expression.
I struggled to find the words, my heart pounding against my ribs. "There’s sothing I need to tell you—"
Before I could continue, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the charged atmosphere. Ryan cursed, clearly intending to ignore it, but the persistent ringing continued.
"You should get that," I said, using the interruption to pull away from him, hastily rebuttoning my blouse with shaking fingers.
He looked at for a long mont, then retrieved his phone from his pocket. His expression darkened as he checked the caller ID.
"This is important," he said reluctantly. "I have to take this."
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve as I smoothed down my skirt and tried to gather my scattered thoughts. What had I been about to do? More importantly, what had I been about to tell him?
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