Page 27 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Madison

Fifteen Years Ago

“ T his is absolutely ridiculous, you realize? How in the fuck did I die of exhaustion? I took a nap!”

Preston strokes his chin, which is covered in stubble, and stares at his computer.

His jaw works as he reads the next prompt.

Glimmers of light from the screen reflect in cognac eyes that are desperate to prevent another fatality.

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and taps the keyboard, making his choice.

A wooden raft holding his wagon floats down the river, and he navigates it with keystrokes. It shifts right, then left, before crashing into a rock. Preston’s face drains of color as a black box appears on the screen, sealing his party’s fate in white letters.

“They killed Sarah and my oxen?!” he yells at the screen.

“Don’t forget the hundred and seventeen bullets you lost.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing in his face, but I fail when his glare burns a hole through my neck.

My hand doesn’t reach my mouth in time to stop a loud cackle. It drowns out the game’s patriotic tune that’s blaring through the desktop speakers.

Preston could pose for the cover of a magazine right now.

No one would ever expect his tousled hair and hooded stare are from playing The Oregon Trail .

I meant for the game to be a way to relax.

He came home in a sour mood, and it’s been my mission to lift his spirits in the best way I know how: my favorite ’90s games.

As you might’ve guessed, it backfired. I’m in tears, and he’s one river away from throwing his computer over the balcony.

He cuts his eyes at me. “You’re laughing pretty hard for someone who died of the shits.”

“At least I didn’t go out from exhaustion.”

“I took a nap!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I mock in an awful English accent and take off in the sprint of my life when he jumps up from the chair.

I squeal at the grip on the back of my cotton robe and pull it off right as I dip out of the home office. The hallway is a blur of crown molding. It fills with the echoes of my laughter and the heavy footfall of our high-speed chase.

Open pocket doors next to the dining room provide a short-lived reprieve.

Soon, Preston skids inside wearing plaid slippers and a predatory scowl.

My thighs tense. His eyes never leave mine as he takes mirrored steps from across the table.

I fake left and pull out a chair behind me, which hits the parquet floor in a thud.

I make it two steps into the living room before I’m in the air, curled to his chest like I’m weightless. His veiny forearms are on full display.

He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Got you.” His musk mixes with his minty breath.

Those two words quiver my spine. “Yes, you do,” I whisper back, my lips inches from his.

If I wasn’t in Preston’s arms, I’d question the days that stretched to weeks to separate us. I’d wonder if there is someone else.

But all doubt fades with the soft caress of his gaze and a kiss that sends the pit of my stomach into a free fall. He walks us back to his room, where we make love for the first time.

Wispy clouds drift across the night sky, prodding a cool breeze to float through the parted balcony doors. We dampened the sheets in Preston’s bed with sweat but kept them intact.

Preston’s lashes flutter against his skin.

He’s on his stomach, fighting the sleep that’s tugging at his satisfied eyes.

They’re filled with a tenderness that shines in the pale light of the moon.

He sinks into the pillow and exhales when my fingers sweep over the lines of his shoulder blade.

His eyes are on me, but his mind is elsewhere.

Sex exceeded my imagination and my wildest dreams. I knew he would be a passionate lover from the way he kisses. Each stroke of his tongue is a soul-searching exploration of the depths of my pleasure.

I unraveled under his quiet praise and the way he held my neck in place as he massaged my G-spot like they were long-lost friends. I wasn’t prepared for the eye contact. It was intense, unwavering in its focus on me and my body’s reactions to his thrusts.

“You’re gorgeous, Puff.” He reaches over to cup my face. I lean into his touch and revel in his nickname for me. “Are you sure it’s okay if I call you that?”

“Yes.” My smile is too big for my face.

“Good. Heather doesn’t suit you.”

That’s because it’s not my name.

I’ve tried and failed to reveal my identity. The timing was never right, with him popping in and out of Paris. I didn’t expect our flirtatious meet-cute to go beyond a night.

Preston was supposed to be temporary, a memory I cataloged during my time in Paris. But he’s more than that. My feelings are past the point of like, entering new territory, and I hope it isn’t a one-way street.

He hasn’t told me why he left London a week earlier than planned.

His eyes were dark, hardened under the annoyance that crossed his face when he first walked in.

I packed up the fashion magazines littered across the coffee table and stood to leave, but he dropped his briefcase, stormed into the living room, and enveloped me in a hug that stretched for minutes.

I thought he wanted space, but he wanted me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked earlier tonight, but I didn’t get a response.

Preston looks away with a strained sigh and stares at the headboard.

We’ve yet to open the door to our full selves.

Only windows we decorate with half-truths and glimpses into the lives we’re shielding from each other.

I don’t think he’s trying to be any more deceptive than I’ve been.

He might know me as Heather, but the heart I’m opening to him is all Madison.

The sheets rustle when he turns on his side to face me. Moonlight drapes over the muscles I licked and down to the dark hair dusting his chest. My cheeks heat when I find his eyes on me after I peek at the pleasure trail of hair that leads to the power between his thighs.

His forearms aren’t the only things with veins.

A smirk lifts his dimples. “Was tonight okay?”

“Tonight was amazing, but it would be better if you told me what’s wrong.”

He considers me, his eyes searching mine as he decides how much he wants to reveal.

His shoulder wilts. “My father and I got into it,” he says, running a hand through his thick hair.

“I want to take our company in a new direction, but he’s fighting me every step of the way. I refuse to become his carbon copy.”

“So just be Preston.”

His hands slip through my arms to pull me closer.

He drapes my leg over his body, and I rest my chin on his chest. “I try every day, Puff.” He kisses my forehead and shifts his eyes to me.

They’re softer, void of the baggage he left at the front door.

“I can be Preston with you. It’s a gift. You’re a gift.”

I wince with guilt. You need to tell him .

“Preston.”

He sits up and kisses me with enough passion to make me dizzy. My nipples perk at the brush of his thumbs, freeing a moan at the slip of his tongue.

Preston takes my face in his hands. “I don’t want to think about the man I have to be for other people. This is me—the real me. I know we don’t have much time together, but I want you for however long you’ll have me.”

“Preston. I have to—”

“All I want is the real you, Puff. Not the you that you give to everyone else. Can you do that?” I pull away to object but fall short at his silent plea.

“I just fired someone who only got close to me for personal gain. I can’t take more deceit.

” His jaw tenses. “Please, Puff. Give me the real you.”

He rises to his knees at my nod and seals his body to mine.

I want to tell him everything before we get too deep, but it’s too late.

There’s no doubt in my mind I’ve fallen for him.

Our lives are too different for anything to go beyond the time we have left.

If I tell Preston I’m not Heather, it will crush him.

Should he decide to toss me away like everyone else who tried to use him, I have no safety net out here.

I only want him, but would he see it that way?

We only have six more months before I fly back to California. Until then, I’ll give him what he wants.

I can give him me.