Chapter Twenty-five
The transition back to Jake’s quarters was silent, seamless, and completely absolute. There was no discussion of the ledger, no arguments about the guest wing, and no more cold leather sofas.
When Jake carried me through his doorway that night, he kicked the heavy steel door shut and locked it, but the room didn't feel like a cage anymore. It felt like the only place in the world where I could breathe. We slept tangled together in the massive bed, his heavy, warm arm draped possessively over my waist, his scent of cedar and rain anchoring me to the mattress.
By Monday, the tension that had suffocated the clubhouse for a week had evaporated—at least between the two of us. I went back to my shifts behind the bar, but the freezing distance was gone. Every time I looked
