Chapter 617:

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Blake Davenport POV

A few days later, I stood at the curb of O’Hare’s private aviation terminal, looking much healthier. I had wrapped production and was finally heading back to New York.

My assistant Chloe loaded my luggage, completely impressed by the private jet waiting on the tarmac. I stepped onto the plane, expecting a quiet flight alone.

The jet landed smoothly at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. As it taxied to a stop, I saw Alistair’s black Maybach waiting on the tarmac like a sleek predator in the late afternoon sun. The chauffeur opened the jet’s door and then the rear door of the car. I stepped down, expecting to climb into an empty vehicle.

He was inside.

Alistair sat on the far side of the backseat, a tablet resting on his knee. He looked up as I slid in, his pale blue eyes doing a quick, assessing sweep of my face, checking for any lingering signs of illness.

“You look better,” he said, his tone neutral as the car began to move.

“Thank you for the jet,” I said stiffly.

An awkward silence settled between us, thick with the unresolved tension from Chicago. To break it, I retreated to business, launching into a debrief about the film production.

Alistair listened patiently, his eyes never leaving my face. As I talked, he reached over and pressed a button on the center console. A dark pane of privacy glass rose smoothly, sealing us into a silent, intimate cocoon.

I𝗇t𝗲nѕ𝘦 r𝗈𝘮а𝘯𝘤e 𝗼n 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝗻𝘰𝗏𝗲𝘭𝘴.c𝘰𝘮

My words faltered. The atmosphere changed instantly.

He put his tablet away, giving me his undivided attention. “I didn’t come here to talk about work, Blake,” he said, his voice a low, dark murmur.

He shifted closer on the wide leather seat, shrinking the distance between us to mere inches.

“I missed you,” he said.

The words were so simple, so direct, they caught me completely off guard. My mind short-circuited.

Before I could erect my defenses, he slid his long arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. It wasn’t a violent hold. It was a firm, possessive, and utterly confident embrace.

My body went rigid with surprise. I was pressed against the hard wall of his chest, smelling the clean scent of his bergamot cologne.

I placed my hand on his chest to push him away. “Alistair,” I protested, my voice flustered.

“Just for the ride,” he said, cutting me off softly. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, as if holding me was the most natural thing in the world.

I was trapped. My mind raced, trying to categorize this new tactic. It wasn’t angry. It was a quiet, confident claiming of my space and my body. I was acutely aware of his warmth seeping through my blazer, the steady beat of his heart against my shoulder.

A confusing warmth spread through my chest. I felt flustered, unsettled, and to my absolute horror, not entirely opposed to being held.

Blake Davenport POV

The silent ascent in the private elevator felt endless. Alistair’s arm remained a warm, heavy weight around my shoulders, a constant, possessive pressure. I stood stiffly beside him, my body tense, my mind bracing for what would happen when the brass doors opened.

They slid apart with a soft chime, opening directly into the penthouse foyer. The vast space felt different now, charged with a volatile energy.

Alistair finally released me as he shrugged off his overcoat, tossing it onto a bench. I immediately took a step back, trying to re-establish the distance he had erased.

It was a futile effort.

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