Merry with a Tycoon (The Love Beach Holiday Collection)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CRYSTAL

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the small courtyard nestled between the two units of the duplex I call home. It’s a hidden oasis, accessible only to residents through a wrought iron gate on the side of the building. Mrs. Abernathy, the sweet elderly lady who occupies the other unit, gave me full use of this space when I moved in, on the condition that I tend to her prized rosebushes and keep the miniature herb garden thriving.

Today, the scent of lavender and basil mingles with the sharp odor of grout as I work on my latest mosaic piece. The colorful tiles spread before me on the weathered wooden table – a recent flea market find that Mrs. Abernathy insisted would be perfect for my “artistic endeavors.”

As the rhythmic snip of tile cutters fills the air as I work, I know it’s no use. What used to offer me their usual comfort is drowned by the memories of the press conference playing on repeat in my mind—from Preston’s earnest speech, the positive reaction of the crowd, and the sudden appearance of his mother and Vivian.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of her perfectly manicured hand on Preston’s arm. My gaze drifts to my own fingernails, stained with grout and flecked with bits of colored tile. I can’t help but laugh at the contrast.

What could Preston possibly see in me when he’s got Vivian. Ex-girlfriend or not, she’s leagues away from my world. I set down my tile cutter with a sigh, realizing I’ve been working on the same piece for far too long without making any real progress.

Vivian’s sudden appearance at the square really shouldn’t bother me. It’s not like Preston and I are... anything. One magical night doesn’t erase years of history, does it?

The tile slips, nicking my finger. I hiss in pain, watching a bead of blood well up. Fitting, I think bitterly. A physical manifestation of the ache in my chest.

I set down the cutter and lean back in the rickety garden chair, my eyes drifting over the courtyard. The string lights Mrs. Abernathy insisted on hanging last summer twinkle faintly in the fading light, creating a whimsical atmosphere that feels at odds with my emotions.

This space has always been my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the meditative process of creating beauty from broken pieces. But today, even the soothing act of mosaic-making can’t quiet the storm in my mind.

As the sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I finally admit defeat. The mosaic before me is a mess, a chaotic jumble of colors and shapes that reflects my inner turmoil. With a sigh, I begin to pack up my tools, carefully sweeping the tile shards into a bucket. Mrs. Abernathy would never forgive me if I left a mess.

The courtyard gate creaks as I push it open, stepping back into the real world. As I climb the stairs to my apartment, each step feels heavier than the last. All I want is a hot shower and my bed, a chance to forget this day ever happened. At least, the thing with the revitalization project being real is a good thing. His promise of not evicting any of us is on record.

But as I reach the top of the stairs, I freeze. A figure is slumped against my door, head in hands. Even in the dim light, I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Preston?”

His head snaps up, relief flooding his features as he scrambles to his feet. “Crystal! Thank god. I’ve been worried sick.”

I blink, confusion overriding my initial shock. “Worried? Why?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m starting to recognize as a sign of his nervousness. “You disappeared after the press conference. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ve been here for hours, imagining all sorts of... I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The genuine concern in his voice makes my heart flutter, but I squash the feeling. I can’t let myself be swayed so easily.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice cooler than I intended. “I was working in the courtyard. Lost track of time.”

Preston’s eyes drop to my hands, widening at the sight of my reddened, slightly cut fingers. Without warning, he takes my hands in his, his touch impossibly gentle.

“You’re hurt,” he murmurs, and the tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me.

Before I can protest, he brings my fingers to his lips, placing soft kisses on each fingertip. The gesture is so unexpected, so intimate, that for a moment I forget to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

He looks up, his blue eyes intense in the dim light. “I needed to see you. To explain about what happened at the press conference. Vivian and I, we’re not-“

“Stop,” I interrupt, pulling my hands away. “You don’t owe me any explanations. We’re not... This isn’t...”

I trail off, unsure how to define what we are, what this is between us.

Preston takes a step closer, eliminating the space between us.

“Don’t you feel it, Crystal? This connection between us?”

I hate that this is our reality but I need to deny whatever it is I’m feeling… this thing that he feels, too. I need to protect my heart from the inevitable hurt that comes from caring about Preston Hollister. But having him standing so close to me isn’t helping strengthen my resolve one iota.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, “ I say instead. “You’re you and I’m… me. We’re from different worlds, Preston.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But right here, right now? We’re just Preston and Crystal. No Hollister empire, no family expectations. Just us.”

His words chip away at whatever resolve I have left. I should send him away, maintain the professional distance that’s protected me all these years. But a larger part of me, a part I’ve been trying to ignore, wants to give in.

“One night,” I hear myself say. “One more night, and then we go back to reality. Deal?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what you want?”

I nod. “It’s what I need.”

Preston takes a deep breath, then nods. “Deal,” he agrees before pulling me to him. The world spins as his lips meet mine, his strong arms supporting me as I sway. The kiss is desperate, hungry, as if he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this one moment. My fingers tingle in his hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him.

We stumble through my apartment door, a tangle of arms and legs and heated breaths. Preston kicks the door shut behind us, his hands never leaving my body as he guides me toward the bedroom.

The rational part of my brain tries to protest, reminding me of all the reasons this is a bad idea, but it’s drowned out by the thundering of my heart and the electric touch of Preston’s fingers on my skin.

Time seems to slow as we fall onto the bed together, our clothing falling away in a frenzied rush. Preston’s hands and lips seem to be everywhere at once, setting my skin on fire with each caress. I arch into his touch, drinking in the sensation of his solid warmth above me.

“God, Crystal,” he breathes against my neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. I pull him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against me. As our bodies move together, the world outside fades away until there’s nothing but us and I’m drowning in sensation, in feeling, in him.

It’s just the two of us—the taste of his skin, the sound of his ragged breathing as I push him down on the bed and kiss a path down his body, my hand wrapping around his hard length.

Preston groans, his hips bucking involuntarily as I tease him with my tongue before taking him fully in my mouth. His fingers tangle in my hair as I work him with lips and tongue bringing him to the edge before pulling back.

“Crystal,” he pants, voice strained. “I need you. Now.”

In one swift motion, he flips us over so I’m straddling him. Reaching for his pants, he retrieves a packet, ripping it with his teeth.

“Let me,” I say, gently taking the condom wrapper from his hands. With trembling fingers, I roll the condom onto his length, relishing the way his breath catches as I touch him.

Our eyes lock as I slowly lower myself onto him, gasping at the delicious stretch. Preston’s hands grip my hips, guiding my movements as we find a rhythm together. The world narrows to just this moment—the slide of skin on skin, the building pressure in my core, the look of awe on Preston’s face as he watches me move above him.

“Look at me,” he whispers, and I open my eyes to find his intense gaze locked on mine. The intimacy of the moment takes my breath away.

The intensity of Preston’s gaze nearly undoes me. I want to look away, to shield myself from the raw emotion I see there, but I can’t. His blue eyes hold me captive as we move together, our bodies joining in a dance as old as time.

“Crystal,” he breathes, and my name on his lips sounds like a prayer. His hands roam my back, pulling me impossibly closer as our hips rock in perfect synchronicity.

The pressure builds, a delicious tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core. Preston’s movements become more urgent, his breathing ragged against my neck. I can feel myself teetering on the edge, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

“Let go,” Preston murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve got you.”

His words are my undoing. With a cry, I shatter around him, waves of pleasure crashing over me. Preston follows soon after, his body tensing beneath me as he finds his own release.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together, our ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Eventually, I roll off him, instantly missing his warmth. But Preston doesn’t let me go far. He pulls me close, tucking me under his arm and against his side.

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat as it slowly returns to normal, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Preston’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, his face buried in my neck.

Slowly, reality begins to seep back in. The sweat cooling on our skin, the faint sounds of traffic outside my window, the realization of what we’ve just done... again. I should move, should put some distance between us, but I can’t bring myself to break this moment.

Preston seems to sense my hesitation. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The tenderness in his touch threatens to undo me all over again.

I know I should pull away, maintain some semblance of distance, but my body betrays me, curling into his warmth.

“Stay,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “Just for tonight.”

Preston’s arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Of course,” he murmurs. “As long as you want me, I’m here.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between us. I want to ask what he means, to define this thing between us, but I’m afraid of the answer. Instead, I close my eyes and let myself be lulled by the steady rhythm of Preston’s heartbeat.

As the first rays of morning sunlight filter through the curtains, I stir awake, my body pleasantly sore from the night’s activities. For a moment, I bask in the warmth of Preston’s embrace, allowing myself to imagine a world where this could be our every morning.

But reality crashes in like a cold wave as I open my eyes fully. The space beside me is empty, the sheets cool to the touch. My heart sinks as I sit up, scanning the room for any sign of Preston.

That’s when I see it – a single red rose resting on the pillow where his head had been.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the rose, its velvety petals soft against my skin. For a moment, I allow myself to breathe in its sweet fragrance, to imagine Preston carefully placing it there before he left.

But there’s no note, no explanation, just the silent beauty of the flower. And suddenly, it’s not enough. The weight of everything—Preston’s status, Vivian’s reappearance, the impossibility of our situation—comes crashing down on me.

I clutch the rose to my chest, feeling the prick of its thorns against my palm. The pain is almost a relief, a physical manifestation of the ache in my heart.

What was I thinking? One magical night—or two—doesn’t change who we are, where we come from. Preston Hollister belongs to a world I can never truly be part of, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.

Maybe it worked for Willy and Brogan, but Preston is… different. He had Vivian.

And she’s back.