Todos os capítulos de Winning Her Back: Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. Then he turned. His eyes found mine instantly, as if drawn by an invisible thread. That intense gaze locked onto me, but the possessiveness, the demanding heat from the garden, was banked. Instead, there was a quiet warmth, a simple acknowledgment that sent a different kind of heat unfurling low in my belly. A slow, genuine smile touched his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes."Hey," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the space between us. "Good to see you here." He didn’t move towards me. He just stood there, the repaired swing frame solid behind him, radiating a grounded, capable presence that felt safe. Familiar. Right."Hey," I managed, my voice slightly breathless. "Lily says you fixed the swing."He shrugged, a casual, easy movement. "Needed doing. Kids deserve a safe swing." His gaze held mine, open, steady. The air around us hummed, not with the crackling tension of before, bu

Ethan’s penthouse didn’t announce itself with gilded opulence; it stole my breath with a vast, quiet grandeur that felt like stepping into the sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic tapestry of Helsinki waking up, the dark water of the harbor reflecting the first blush of dawn, the city lights softening like embers. The space was expansive, airy, all cool tones of dove grey and bleached wood, punctuated by sleek, minimalist furniture that looked sculpted rather than placed. Yet, it wasn't cold. Unexpected warmth radiated from thick, textured rugs in deep blues, a massive abstract painting in swirling, fiery ochres dominating one wall, and shelves lined not just with leather-bound books but with intriguing artifacts, a smooth river stone, a weathered compass, a model sailboat. It was powerful, yes, undeniably the domain of a CEO, but it whispered of the man beneath: thoughtful, grounded, drawn to elemental beauty. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic counterpoint to

The car door clicked shut behind me, sealing off the world of soft leather and Ethan’s warm, sandalwood-and-coffee scent. The chill Helsinki air bit my cheeks, a stark contrast to the lingering heat radiating from my lips. He hadn’t just dropped me off; he’d lingered, his hand cupping my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone, his gaze holding mine through the open window with an intensity that made the pavement feel unsteady beneath my feet."Call you later?" he’d asked, his voice low, roughened by the memory of the night, the morning, the promises whispered against my skin in the quiet dawn light of his penthouse. It wasn’t really a question. It was a thread, thrown across the growing distance.Instead of answering, I leaned back in. My fingers curled around the cool edge of the car window frame. His eyes, dark pools reflecting the grey morning light, locked onto mine. The air crackled, charged with everything unsaid, everything felt. The memory of his hands, his mouth, t

The scent of him lingered on my sheets long after he was gone, a ghost of expensive cologne and pure, unadulterated Ethan that I kept pressing my face into like an addict. I was ruined for any other air.A sharp, efficient rap at the door, Sandra’s signature knock jerked me from the haze. I pulled on the shirt he’d left behind, its fabric whispering against my skin, and went to open the door.Sandra’s eyes did a quick, forensic scan of the apartment, the two wine glasses by the sink, the discarded suit jacket slung over my chair, the general aura of spent lightning and a slow, knowing smirk spread across her face. “Well, well. Looks like the ceasefire negotiations were a success.”I laughed, the sound still throaty and unfamiliar. “Something like that.”We settled with tea, and the words just tumbled out of me, a river held back for too long. I told her everything, from the terrifying headlines to the devastating texts, from the shared pasta to the way he’d held my painted hand like i

The silence in the car was a living, breathing entity. It wasn't empty; it was filled to bursting with the echo of that single, world-altering word. Wife. It seemed to shimmer in the air between us, catching the light from passing streetlamps, each one a fleeting strobe illuminating the profound shift in the man beside me.Ethan didn't start the engine. His hands, usually so decisive, rested on the steering wheel as if he, too, were trying to anchor himself in the new reality he’d just proclaimed. The scent of him filled the space, a sensory claim more potent than any legal document.My hand was still encased in his, our fingers laced together on the cool leather of the seat. His thumb began to move, a slow, absent-minded caress against my skin that sent sparks shooting up my arm. It was this simple, unconscious touch that finally unlocked my voice."Ethan," I began, the word soft, almost lost in the hum of the city beyond our glass and metal cocoon. He turned his head, his eyes dark