Decisions

Quinn

I woke up to the soft rustling of leaves outside and the distant chirping of birds. The storm had finally passed, and the sun was streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. I stretched languidly, feeling a pleasant ache in my muscles from last night's activities. Lachlan was nowhere to be seen, but the indentation on the pillow beside me and the faint scent of his cologne lingered as a reminder of his presence.

As I sat up, the events of the previous night came flooding back—the intensity of our connection, the way Lachlan had made me feel things I had never experienced before. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. But as much as I wanted to lose myself in the memory of his touch, I knew I couldn't afford to be distracted. I had come here for a reason, and time was running out.

I quickly got dressed and made my way down to the dining room, where I found Lachlan already seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up as I entered, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"Good morning, Quinn," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "I trust you slept well?"

I nodded, taking a seat across from him. "I did, thank you. But I have to admit, I'm a bit anxious about the time. The storm seems to have passed, and I'm worried that the plane will be returning soon. We still have so much to cover for the interview."

Lachlan's smile didn't waver, but I noticed a slight tightening in his jaw. "About that," he began, setting down his coffee cup. "I've been thinking. What if you didn't have to rush back? What if you stayed here a while longer?"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Stay here? But I have a life back home, Lachlan. I have responsibilities, a job—"

"A job that doesn't appreciate your talent," he interjected, his eyes burning into mine. "You're too good for that small-time magazine, Quinn. You deserve more. And I can give you more."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he was saying. "What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "I want you to write my memoir, Quinn. Not just an article, but a full book. The real story, with all the dark secrets and hidden truths. Things I've never told anyone before."

My heart raced at the prospect. Writing a memoir for someone as influential and enigmatic as Lachlan McIntyre would be a career-making opportunity. But it would also mean staying here, in his world, under his spell. Could I afford to take that risk?

"I don't know, Lachlan," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's a huge commitment. And I have people back home who depend on me."

Lachlan reached across the table, taking my hand in his. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I understand, Quinn. But think about what this could do for your career. You'd have complete control over the narrative. You'd be the one telling my story, in your words. And I promise, it's a story worth telling."

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his offer pressing down on me. It was tempting, so incredibly tempting. But there was a part of me that was scared—scared of losing myself in this man, of becoming so engulfed in his world that I forgot who I was.

His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, sending warm shivers up my arm. "And there are other benefits, of course," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "You'd have my undivided attention, Quinn. All the time in the world to explore this... connection between us."

I drew in a sharp breath, feeling my resolve beginning to crumble. The memory of his hands on my body, his lips on mine, his domination over my very desire was almost too much to resist. But I resolved to keep a clear head. I couldn't let my desires cloud my judgment.

"I need to think about it, Lachlan," I said, pulling my hand away from his. "It's a big decision, and I can't just make it on a whim."

He nodded, though I could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes. "I understand, Quinn. Take all the time you need. But remember, the offer stands. And so does my desire for you."

With that, he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat there for a long time, my mind racing with all the implications of his offer. It was a chance to make a name for myself, to prove that I was more than just a small-town journalist. But it also meant giving up a part of myself, a part of my life that I wasn't sure I was ready to let go of.

As the day wore on, I found myself wandering the expansive grounds of the estate, trying to clear my head. The sun was warm on my skin, and the smell of saltwater filled the air, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged just days before. I walked along the beach, feeling the sand between my toes and listening to the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

But no matter how far I walked, I couldn't escape the memories of Lachlan's touch, the way his eyes had burned into mine, the command in his voice as he ordered me to orgasm. It was all-consuming, and I found myself yearning for him with an intensity that scared me.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I made my way back to the house. I had come to a decision—I would stay, but on my terms. I would write his memoir, but I had to maintain my professional boundaries. I wouldn't let myself be sucked into his world completely.

I found Lachlan in his study, pouring over a stack of papers. He looked up as I entered, and I saw a mixture of emotions I couldn't quite identify in his eyes.

"Quinn," he said, his voice calm. "Have you made a decision?"