I turned in his arms to face him, my gaze locking with his.
“But Stewart was never the monster,” I said, the truth of it washing over me with a clean, painful clarity. “He was justanother one of her puppets. A sad, greedy little man on a string.” A single, defiant tear slipped down my cheek, but my voice didn’t waver. “It was her. It was always her.”
Sean’s expression was so soft, his thumbs coming up to brush away the tear. “Yes,” he said, his voice full of an understanding that soothed the rawest parts of my soul. “It was always her.”
I looked down at our hands, then back up at him. “She played everyone. My father, Stewart… me. She was always counting on me to be the ‘wild child,’ the mess who would eventually crumble.” I met his eyes, and I saw my own resilience reflected there. “But I didn’t crumble this time, did I?”
I saw the pride welling in his gaze as he shook his head slowly. “No, you didn’t,” he said, his voice deep with an emotion that made my heart ache in the best way. “You walked into the dragon’s den and you set it on fire. You were magnificent.”
Magnificent.No one had ever seen me as magnificent. They saw me as a menace, a disaster, a problem to be solved.
A real smile, my first genuine smile of the night, finally broke through. “I think I’m done being a puppet,” I whispered.
He pulled me against him, his forehead resting on mine, the world narrowing to just the two of us. “I know you are,” he said. “And you’ll never be alone in a fight again. Ever.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SEAN
A week after the storm,a quiet peace had settled over our lives, a calm so profound it felt almost alien. I sat in an armchair in our upscale Glasgow hotel suite, a cup of coffee in hand, and just watched her. Beth was across the room, humming softly to herself as she folded a cashmere sweater and placed it into an open suitcase on the bed.
The chaotic, restless energy that had always surrounded her, that nervous vibration of a woman constantly braced for the next blow, was gone. In its place was a serene, unshakable confidence that radiated from her in warm waves. It was in the easy way she moved, the genuine, unforced smile that played on her lips as she caught me watching her. It was the face of a woman who had walked through fire and discovered she was fireproof. I had thought she was beautiful before, a captivating mess of wit and vulnerability. But this version of her? The one who had faced down her dragons and won? She was magnificent. She took my breath away.
“What are you staring at, McCrae?” she asked, her Scottish lilt full of playful amusement.
“A work of art,” I said, my voice completely serious. “I’m contemplating how much I’d have to donate to a museum to get you installed as a permanent exhibit.”
She laughed, a rich, full-throated sound that was quickly becoming my favorite sound in the world. “I think you’ll find my acquisition price is far too high,” she quipped, tossing a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “And my maintenance requires a steady supply of good coffee and bad jokes.”
“A price I am more than willing to pay,” I said, rising from my chair and walking over to her. I came up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against my chest, burying my face in the fiery silk of her hair. It smelled like her shampoo and something else, something uniquely, wonderfully Beth. “So, you’re really doing it? You’re packing?”
“Well, I can’t exactly stay in Glasgow, can I?” she murmured, leaning back into my embrace. “My mother is currently on a self-imposed exile to one of our more remote properties to ‘recover from the humiliation,’ and my father is busy with a small army of lawyers dismantling Stewart’s life, piece by fraudulent piece. Staying here would be… anticlimactic.”
“I saw the headline in The Mail,” I said quietly. “‘Glasgow’s Grande Dame in Disgrace.’ They’re not holding back.” I hesitated, then asked the question that had been on my mind. “Are they... do you think they’ll get a divorce?”
Beth let out a short, humorless laugh. “What? And unravel decades of carefully merged assets and social connections? No. That would be far too messy, far too expensive. And much too public for my father’s taste. He won’t divorce her.” She turnedin my arms, a new, steely certainty in her eyes. “But make no mistake, he’ll be calling the shots in that household from now on. The quiet king has finally taken back his throne. Mum’s reign is over.”
“I might have a suggestion for your next destination,” I said, my lips brushing against her ear. “Since Glasgow is officially off the table.”
“Oh, do you?” she purred, tilting her head to give me better access. “And where might that be?”
“California,” I said softly. “Come home with me, Beth. Come meet my loud, insane, wonderful family. My mother is already planning a welcome dinner that will probably involve enough food to feed a small army. My father wants to talk to you about Scottish history. And for the rest of my big family, sisters, brothers, cousins… well, you’ve already survived Fury and Sienna. The rest of them are practically harmless in comparison.”
She turned in my arms, her blue eyes searching mine. “Are you sure, Sean? I mean, your family… they’ve read the stories on social media, no doubt. They know my history.”
“My family knows that I’m in love with a brilliant, strong, and incredibly brave woman,” I said, my voice firm as I cupped her face in my hands. “That’s the only story that matters. The rest is just noise. Besides, they all have their own stories. Trust me. You’ll want to hear them all.”
A slow smile went across her face, the one that still made my heart do a stupid little flip-flop. “Well,” she said, a mischievous spark in her eyes, “I suppose if I can handle a Wall Street conqueror and a woman who could intimidate a Bond villain, I can probably handle a few more McCraes and Gracens.” She rose on her tiptoes, her lips finding mine in a kiss that was full of promise and a quiet, joyful certainty. “Alright, McCrae. You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s go meet the parents.”
The kiss deepened, and my hands slid from her face down her back, pulling her flush against me. The simple act of packing a suitcase was quickly forgotten, replaced by a much more interesting, and infinitely more satisfying, activity. This quiet, domestic bliss, I realized as I lifted her into my arms and carried her the two steps to the bed, was the most profound victory of all. I took my time. Her eyes patient, waiting for pleasure. I laid her down on the bed beside a half-packed suitcase, scattering a few neatly folded garments in the process.
“Your packing skills leave much to be desired, McCrae,” she teased, even as her fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt.
“I excel at unpacking,” I murmured against her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear that always made her gasp. “Especially when it comes to you.”
Her laugh turned into a soft moan as my hand slid beneath her sweater, finding the warm skin beneath. “We have a flight to catch,” she protested weakly, her body arching into my touch.
“We have hours,” I countered, pushing her sweater up to reveal the delicate lace of her bra. “And I plan to use every minute of them showing you exactly how much I’m going to miss having you all to myself once my family gets their hands on you.”
