"That wasn't as terrible as I expected," he admits as we walk to his car. "Though the direct questioning about our relationship was pure Vivienne."
"I like her," I say, surprising myself with the realization. "She cares about you. Really sees you."
"She likes you too." He opens the passenger door for me. "Which is something of a miracle. She's never approved of anyone I've dated."
"So we are dating?" I tease, settling into the leather seat. "I thought we were 'figuring it out.'"
He closes my door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver's seat before answering. "I believe the term my mother used was 'sleeping together.'"
"Subtle, she is not."
"Never has been." He starts the engine but doesn't immediately pull away. Instead, he turns to me, expression suddenly serious in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. "Would you like to go back to your place? Or..."
"Or?" I prompt, pulse quickening.
"Or mine?" His voice drops lower. "I have a suite at the lodge on the north side of town. More privacy than HQ."
The implication sends heat spiraling through me. "Your place," I decide instantly. "Definitely your place."
The drive to his lodge feels interminable despite the relatively short distance. Tension builds between us with every mile, the air in the SUV charged with anticipation. My body hums with awareness, with the memory of how his hands felt on my skin last night, with the promise of what awaits us.
His suite at North Ridge Lodge turns out to be more of a private cabin, a luxurious retreat with its own entrance, nestled among the pines at the edge of the property. Inside, a fire has already been laid in the stone hearth, waiting only for a match to bring it to life.
"Perks of being the CEO," Atticus explains as he ignites the kindling, the flames quickly catching and casting golden light across the open-plan living space. "Marcus arranged everything."
"Remind me to thank him," I murmur, taking in the rustic elegance of the cabin. Like The Evergreen, it manages to balance luxury with authentic mountain charm, timber beams overhead, plush furniture in rich earth tones, floor-to-ceiling windows that would showcase spectacular views in daylight.
Atticus shrugs out of his suit jacket, loosening his tie as he moves to a small bar area. "Drink?"
"Please." I slip off my heels, sighing with relief as my stockinged feet sink into the plush area rug. "Something warm?"
He selects a bottle, pouring amber liquid into crystal tumblers. "Single malt. Warms from the inside out."
Our fingers brush as he hands me the glass, the simple contact sending electricity up my arm. I take a sip, the whiskey burning pleasantly down my throat, warming my chest.
"Better than dinner conversation?" he asks, his own glass cradled in long fingers that I now know can work magic on my body.
"Much." I move closer to the fire, feeling its heat against my legs where the dress's slit reveals bare skin. "Though your mother was surprisingly... accepting."
"She sees what you mean to me." His voice is soft as he joins me by the hearth. "Always has, probably before I was willing to admit it to myself."
The confession sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with whiskey or firelight. "And what do I mean to you, Atticus?"
He sets his glass aside, taking mine and placing it next to his on the mantel. Then his hands are framing my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as his eyes hold mine.
"Everything," he says simply. "You mean everything to me."
The sincerity in his voice steals my breath. This is Atticus Morgan, the man who calculates risk in his sleep, who guards his emotions behind boardroom strategies, laying his heart bare without reservation.
"Atticus," I breathe, overwhelmed.
"Too much?" he asks, echoing my earlier question.
"No," I assure him, rising on tiptoes to brush my lips against his. "Perfect."
The kiss deepens immediately, all the tension that's been building since he saw me in this dress finally finding release. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him as my hands slide up his chest to curl around his neck. The silk of mydress whispers between us, a sensuous barrier I suddenly can't wait to remove.
As if reading my thoughts, his hands find the zipper at the back of my dress, slowly drawing it down as his lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then down the sensitive curve of my neck. Each press of his lips against my skin sends shivers cascading through me, heat pooling low in my belly.
