Page 29 of Fierce Love (Tucker Billionaires)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hollyn

T he plane is absolutely gorgeous, modern and spacious with more seats than our small group would ever need. I’m deeply grateful that Kin decided to bring a friend from Bellerive rather than someone from New York, because it means that while Kin is in the shower, I’m not alone with Nate.

Unhinged tension must be radiating off me, and I feel sorry for Kin’s friend, Indy, who, even at her age, must sense there’s something off. Nate and I are sitting at opposite ends of the plane, as though we’ve never shared space in the world.

Whereas I’m stewing, unable to focus on anything, hyperaware of how my body was singing for him earlier, he’s on his computer doing billionaire things as though he wasn’t seconds from losing his sanity right along with me in his office.

Am I bitter about that? Maybe. A little.

If Posey hadn’t knocked, I probably would have begged Nate to slide more than his fingers inside me.

Part of me can’t help but wonder whether this is Nate now, whether what happened in his office doesn’t mean anything to him. He was so casual afterwards—it happened, we move on—as though I was threatening to get too attached. Some clingy girl who doesn’t know how to adult.

He’s the one who keeps saying he wants me and then backs away like he doesn’t mean it. Gameplaying 101.

His comment depicting me as someone hung up on something I can’t have sets me on edge.

It’s valid, and I hate it. I can’t stop thinking about how I basically ground myself against his hand.

On his desk. Less than three hours ago. Desperate for him.

God, did I really say “please”? Beg him not to stop?

My exact wording is a blur, but if I close my eyes, I can vividly picture the dark desire in his blue-green eyes, the way his breath came hot and quick on my cheek, the feel of his calloused hands guiding me right into the rough waves of pleasure.

I can’t even remember the last time I came that fast or hard.

Every time I look over at him, those moments in his office are all I can see. I don’t even know how I’ll go into his office again and not turn crimson with embarrassment.

But I also don’t know how I’ll stop myself from wanting to do it again.

We learned ourselves and each other during that spring and summer together—how to tease and taunt, make each other plead for release, every touch and caress that could leave us breathless with need.

We fostered a connection that felt as necessary as breathing—and now that I’ve had even this thin slice of him again, it makes me feel slightly ill that he could have ever done any of that with someone else.

It feels wrong . As though I’ve spent the last fourteen years in some parallel dimension and I’m just realizing I’ve been tricked into living a second-class life.

The bathroom door flies open, and Kin is in such a haze of excitement that she doesn’t even notice I’m being weird when she starts talking to me, her mind already in New York.

She’s dressed in her favorite leggings and a Mia Malone T-shirt, and she quickly leaves me to collapse into the seat beside Indy, the two of them immediately consumed by giddy chatter.

Nate was right to bring a friend for Kinsley—she’s over the moon, and I can’t adequately match her energy.

The rest of the trip to the Tuckers’ NY apartment is an anxious blur of oscillating emotions, from frustrated and angry at Nate’s detached politeness to lustful with an edge of hopefulness every time our gazes connect, even for an instant.

But anger and frustration are safer.

At the apartment complex, we take the elevator to the top floor, and when we step off, there’s a door on either side of the hallway.

“We own the whole floor—two apartments,” Nate says with a hint of apology as he unlocks one door.

The two girls pile into the foyer with high ceilings, overnight bags slung over their shoulders.

There’s an audible gasp from Kinsley as they get deeper into the space and then squeals of excitement.

I’m sure it’s bigger than any apartment Kinsley has ever seen, and I linger at the entrance, that faint hopefulness wafting back into my emotional landscape.

I spent the ride in the elevator wondering how I could hide from our connection for the rest of the trip or smother it somehow, and now I’d give anything to have him stay for a few more minutes.

This emotional seesaw is getting old, but I can’t seem to get off it.

“The key,” Nate says, dropping it into my palm. Then he removes another from his pocket. “This one opens my apartment”—he nods toward the door across the hallway—“where I’m staying, in case you need a break from their teenage moods.”

“You know Kinsley well,” I say with a small smile.

“I’m working on it. She’s important to you, so that makes her important to me.”

I don’t even have to fight the urge to correct him—it barely rises.

He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, as though he’s waiting for me to either invite him in or dismiss him, but I can’t work up the mental willpower to make that choice.

I want him to stay even if I know it’s better for him to go. He holds my eye contact.

“It’s late,” he says.

“It’ll be a long day tomorrow,” I agree, willing him to make the choice to stay or go.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Nate says, a hint of a smile playing at the edge of his lips as he pushes off the frame and strolls to his door. I can see him from where I’m standing, and at his doorway, he glances back at me, and even from this distance, the air hums between us.

“Hollyn,” Kinsley yells from inside the apartment. “Come see this!”

Reluctantly, I shut the door and wander into the open-concept apartment with high ceilings, tall windows, and expensive leather furniture.

I clock all the brand-name furniture strewn around—tables, lamps, chairs, art—in almost-new condition.

It seems like such a waste to spend so much money on a space they must not use very often.

Then I focus on Kinsley and Indy, who are strutting around the room, lanyards dangling from their necks.

“What are those?” I ask.

“Backstage passes,” Kinsley squeals. “We’re going to meet Mia Malone.”

“I cannot even believe this,” Indy says, hugging Kinsley. “This is going to be the best weekend of my life.”

“And this apartment,” Kinsley says, twirling around. “We could fit like ten of Aunt Verna’s apartments in here. There are five bedrooms. Five !”

“And they all have their own bathroom,” Indy says.

“The kitchen has all our favorite snacks,” Kinsley says. “There’s even a bottle of that Bellerive sweet tea you like—the one from that hotel—in the fridge.”

I cross the room to the kitchen, and I open the fridge.

Sure enough, my favorite sweet tea is there, and my mind ticks through how long Nate has had these concert tickets and how heavily he banked on me not being able to say no.

As I open other cupboards and drawers, I find foods I’ve been eating at work as snacks or that I’ve mentioned having a craving for in passing during casual conversations the last few weeks.

“Wow,” I whisper, and Kinsley’s at my shoulder.

“Right? And he left us Mia Malone concert merch too. Like stuff people only get from the VIP packages we’ve seen people open on TikTok, and not like some of the stuff—I mean all of it.”

When I glance back at the kitchen table, I see what she means. There are T-shirts, tote bags, stickers, pins, signed headshots, and I can’t even see what else. It’s an explosion of Mia Malone.

“There are three sets,” Kinsley says as Indy sifts through everything and keeps holding stuff up for me to see from where I stand. “You get it too.”

“You can take it to school,” I say. “Give it to your friends.” I like Mia Malone’s music, but I’m not one to collect or fawn over fan apparel.

“Can I take some of it too?” Indy asks. “My little sister was so jealous I was coming here this weekend.”

“Sure,” I say. “Just divide it up.” My heart is slow-thudding in my chest, and I can’t decide if I need to leave the apartment or sit down. “You girls should get to sleep,” I say. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

They grab their things and go from bedroom to bedroom, finally deciding on one that has bunk beds that look like pods built into the wall with an actual staircase to the top bunk and bookshelves stacked with books.

I hover at the door for a beat and then make a decision. “I’m just going to pop over and thank Nate for all this,” I say.

Kinsley barely spares me a glance as she gathers her things for the en suite bathroom. “Sure. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re okay, Indy?” I ask, feeling a little uncertain about leaving them alone, even if I’m only going across the hall for a minute.

“Yep,” Indy says. “Better than good,” she says as she practically hops into the bathroom behind Kinsley.

I hesitate for one more beat, battling with my urge to be overprotective and questioning the wisdom of going to Nate’s apartment. One close encounter today was enough.

But heaven help me, I’m not sure enough exists where Nate Tucker is concerned.

The girls are oblivious to my struggle, chatting to each other while brushing their teeth.

I slip out of our apartment, and I stand at his door. The key he gave me, presumably so I didn’t need to knock or ask permission to enter, is in my hand. Without letting myself overthink it any longer, I slot it into the lock and push open the door.

“Nate?” I call into the open space. Unlike the first apartment, there’s no entryway here.

I’m into the open living room and kitchen immediately.

The layout seems a little smaller than the other apartment—still high ceilings, expensive furnishings, but slightly cozier, as though people actually use this apartment.

“Nate?” I call again, making my way deeper into the apartment.