Chapter 33
The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, Blake and Jamie standing side by side, pretending they were here for research.
Technically, they were.
The rooftop space at Seabreeze was one of its most underutilized gems – panoramic sea views, open-air lounges, fairy light fixtures tucked into ivy-wrapped beams. It was romantic in that effortless, wind-swept kind of way.
Perfect for late-night cocktails. Or a slow-burning marketing campaign.
Or, apparently, a little something else.
The doors slid open with a quiet ding, revealing the empty rooftop bathed in soft afternoon light. No music. No people. Just the sea stretching endlessly and the wind tousling Jamie’s already-messy hair.
Jamie walked to the railing, bracing his arms there as the breeze hit him. “Wow,” he murmured. “This place sells itself.”
Behind him, Blake’s voice was lower, rougher. “Noticed that earlier. Thought of a few… creative ways to market it.”
Jamie chuckled. “Like what?”
He didn’t get an answer – only the warm weight of Blake pressing up behind him. Solid chest to his back. Strong arms ghosting to either side of the railing. And then…
Soft lips against his neck.
Jamie inhaled sharply as Blake’s mouth moved lower, nipping, kissing, murmuring against his skin.
“Thought about you up here,” Blake whispered. “Wind in your hair, you flushed, moaning my name with no one around to hear.”
Jamie gripped the railing tighter.
Blake rolled his hips forward, pressed tight against him.
Jamie groaned, pushing back. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Their hips moved slowly – rhythmic, desperate, not enough but everything in the moment. Friction. Heat. The kind of contact that made both of them curse under their breath.
Jamie tilted his head, letting Blake kiss his jaw, his throat, his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I swear,” he gasped, “if something interrupts us again…”
Ring ring.
Blake’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket.
They both froze.
Blake growled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jamie let his head drop forward with a groan. “I seriously hate electronics right now.”
Blake kissed the back of his neck once more, slower this time. “I swear, I’ll file a restraining order against my own phone.”
Jamie laughed, breathless. “Is that what they call blue-balled professionalism?”
Blake smiled, reluctantly pulling away. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Ten minutes later, back in the suite, they were straightening their shirts and adjusting collars in front of the mirror.
Dinner with the team was in half an hour.
Then final prep for tomorrow’s pitch.
Reality was back.
But their bodies hadn’t forgotten.
And their eyes – every time they locked across the room – were full of promises that hadn’t been broken. Just… delayed.