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Their eyes met as he pushed forward slowly, watching her lips part on a silent gasp as he filled her completely. For a moment, neither moved, locked together in a perfect stillness that seemed to extend beyond their bodies.

Then Kelsey rolled her hips beneath him, and thought became impossible. Mac began his long, measured strokes that had her clutching at his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist to draw him deeper. The firelight danced across their joined bodies to create shapes on the walls that merged and separated with each thrust.

Mac braced himself on his forearms, keeping most of his weight off her smaller frame while maintaining the intimate press of skin against skin. He watched her face, the flutter of her eyelashes, the parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her cheeks, committing each detail to memory.

Kelsey’s inner muscles tightened around him as her breathing fractured into soft moans that drove him toward the edge of his control. Her release came suddenly, her body arching beneath him, inner walls pulsing around him as she cried out his name.

The sight of her abandoned to pleasure, combined with the exquisite pressure of her body, toppled Mac over the edge after her. He buried his face against her neck as his hips jerked, emptying himself inside her with a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

For long moments after, they remained entangled, sweat cooling on their skin, breath gradually slowing. Mac rolled to his side, bringing Kelsey with him to face the fire, her back pressed to his front, his arm around her waist. He pulled the throw blanket from the couch to cover them both against the evening chill.

Neither spoke. What words could possibly encompass the shift that had occurred between them? Mac pressed his lips to her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of... something.

This was temporary, he reminded himself, even as the thought caused a sharp pain in his chest. In a few months, after the custody battle was won and his grandfather was gone, he’d be on his boat, alone on the ocean.

This wasn’t forever. Couldn’t be.

Mac tightened his arm around her sleeping form, inhaling the scent of her hair, allowing himself this moment of pretense. He listened to her quiet breathing, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, until sleep finally found him.

Chapter 25

The spring sunshine filtered through the wide bay windows, casting its rays across Truman’s bed. They’d moved it yesterday, positioning it to face the ocean view he loved so dearly.

Kelsey adjusted the oxygen flow, her movements automatic after so many days of tending to him. The medical part was easy, administering medications, ensuring comfort. It was watching him fade that broke her heart.

“How are you doing this morning?” Mac’s voice was deliberately light as he entered with a tray carrying tea and toast. The circles under his eyes had deepened over the past several days, evidence of the nights he’d spent sleeping in the armchair beside his grandfather’s bed.

“Tired of being fussed over,” Truman rasped, though his smile belied the complaint. His skin had taken on the grayish pallor Kelsey recognized too well from her years in healthcare. The subtle transparency that meant the body was retreating, preparing for its final journey.

“The oxygen’s helping,” Kelsey said, noting the slight improvement in his saturation levels. “And he actually ate some oatmeal earlier.”

“Barely a spoonful,” Truman grumbled. “But it was good. Your grandmother’s recipe?”

Mac nodded and set the tray down carefully. “Mrs. Henley found it in your recipe box. Thought it might tempt your appetite.”

Truman’s eyes drifted toward the windows, where whitecaps dotted the steel-blue water of the bay. “Beautiful day. Tide’s coming in.”

Kelsey followed his gaze, struck by how the timeless rhythm of the ocean continued regardless of human dramas. The tides didn’t care about custody hearings or corporate takeovers or even death. They simply came and went, as they had for millennia.

“Any word from the Prescotts?” Truman asked suddenly, his mind still sharp despite his body’s decline.

Mac exchanged a glance with Kelsey. “Nothing. Just the see you in court text to Kelsey.”

“Radio silence,” Kelsey confirmed. “I almost wish he’d do something so we’d know what we’re facing.”

“The hearing’s in a week,” Mac added, the tension evident in his jaw.

Truman made a dismissive noise. “Jason Prescott is drowning. The takeover cut off his credit lines, and those shell companies he was using to hide his debt are collapsing. You’ve beaten him, whether he knows it yet or not.”

“But is it enough?” Kelsey asked, voicing the fear that had kept her awake at night. “The custody hearing isn’t about finances. It’s about Noah.”

“It was always about the money.” Truman’s voice was momentarily strengthened. “Without it, Jason has no resources to pursue custody. No judges to buy out. He doesn’t care about the boy, he cares about controlling his inheritance.”

“Right, but these people, they’re vindictive. They may do something out of spite,” Kelsey said.

“The restraining order is in place,” Mac replied, though the words provided little comfort. He had paced to the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “They’d be fools to attempt anything like what Jennifer tried at the aquarium again.”

“They’re desperate fools,” Kesley countered. “Aren’t those the most dangerous kind?”