Chapter 31

The morning sun spilled through the balcony doors, warm and golden and entirely too romantic for two men still tangled in bedsheets.

Jamie stirred first – half-asleep, half-conscious of the arm draped across his waist and the very real heat pressed up behind him.

Blake was already awake, kissing the back of Jamie’s neck, soft and lazy.

“Mmm,” Jamie mumbled, stretching like a cat. “Morning.”

Blake rolled him onto his back, mouth finding Jamie’s, kisses deepening quickly. Their legs tangled, hips rolling instinctively, boxers the only barrier between them and the kind of pleasure they’d been dancing around for days.

Jamie arched against him, grinding slowly, their breath catching in perfect sync.

Blake’s hands explored – Jamie’s jaw, his chest, the curve of his hip. Jamie’s fingers slid through Blake’s hair, tugging gently, teasing moans from both of them.

It was perfect.

Until Blake’s phone started ringing.

Loudly.

And persistently.

Blake groaned against Jamie’s throat. “Ignore it.”

The phone kept going.

Jamie’s lips curved in a smile. “You’re the boss. Don’t you own silence?”

Blake sighed, dropped a kiss to Jamie’s shoulder, and reached blindly for the phone.

“Raincheck?” he murmured.

Jamie, flushed and breathless, nodded. “I need a cold shower anyway.”

Blake chuckled. “Don’t sound so excited.”

Jamie rolled out of bed and padded toward the en suite. “You don’t know cold until you’ve taken a French shower with self-control.”

Blake answered the phone with one hand and raked the other through his hair. “Sterling.”

Jamie glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t fall in love with any spreadsheets while I’m gone.”

Blake winked. “Only with your marketing strategy.”

By the time they met the team for breakfast, Blake was in full work mode – suit jacket optional, hair still slightly damp, phone already buzzing with back-to-back notifications.

Jamie looked… well, composed. Mostly. His shirt collar was slightly askew, and Camille gave him a suspicious once-over when he sat down.

“Good night?” she asked.

Jamie, without missing a beat: “Slept like a log. Dreamt of croissants. Very innocent.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “You’re glowing.”

“Shut up and pass the fruit salad,” Jamie said sweetly.

The team spread out in one of the hotel’s sunny conference lounges, pastries and cappuccinos within arm’s reach, laptops open, whiteboards filled with buzzwords and half-formed genius.

Trisha took the lead on positioning. “We focus on transformative luxury. Seabreeze isn’t just a place – it’s who you become when you’re here.”

Camille added, “And the visuals have to show people doing things, not just looking at them. Kayaking, painting, clinking wine glasses. Full-body experience.”

Jacob jumped in. “The ‘worth the drive’ angle still works, but flip it. What if the distance is part of the magic? We frame it like a hidden gem you earn by choosing yourself.”

Jamie, scribbling notes like lightning: “Yes. Not remote – retreat. Not far – far enough.“

Blake, standing at the whiteboard with a marker, turned to look at Jamie.

“Write that down,” he said, eyes warm. “You’re on fire today.”

Jamie shrugged, trying not to smile too wide. “Must be the croissants.”

They worked through the morning, energy high, ideas flowing.

But every time Jamie glanced up and caught Blake’s eye across the table, it hit him like it was the first time:

This is real.

And it’s only just beginning.