Dallas heard the door slam and called himself nine kinds of a fool. He should never have tested his limits with her.

For that matter, he should never have kissed her, should never have touched her.

They’d had their moment when they were young, and they needed to both just get over it. They were chasing fantasies, and it was going to destroy them both.

He stood up and leaned against the bathroom counter, then looked at his face in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? He was a strong man. He ran a billion dollar empire. He headed up a covert organization. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t shirk from the hard shit. When he had a project or a mission, he did what had to be done to make it happen. Emotion didn’t enter into the equation.

So why had he let it with Jane?

Because he’d wanted her.

Because she’d wanted him. Or at least she had until she’d learned this new truth about him. God only knew what she thought of him now.

But just because they wanted didn’t mean they could have, and they’d been torturing themselves for years.

He didn’t know how to stop. He didn’t know how to rip open his heart and pull her out.

But he had to figure it out.

Because if they kept on like this, he’d just end up dragging her down. And he loved her too damn much to watch that happen.

He rubbed the back of his neck in defense against a rising headache. He’d never truly gotten used to his cock failing on him, but he certainly wasn’t surprised anymore. Every time—every goddamn time—he lost his erection at penetration. In fact, he rarely even tried anymore.

But that wasn’t all of it. Hell, he couldn’t even fuck a woman’s mouth and get off. She could suck him until the end of the world, and it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference. For that matter, he couldn’t let her jack him off with her hand or her tits.

He came by his own hand or not at all, and there was no therapist, no drug, no goddamn magic cure. He ought to know—he’d tried every fucking thing.

This was who he was—who his captors had made him. And he’d gotten damn good at making sure the women in his bed were satisfied. Hell, it had become a point of both pride and camouflage. If they walked away feeling thoroughly fucked, the likelihood of them realizing they hadn’t actually been thoroughly fucked was significantly less.

But over the years, some part of him had believed that Adele was right—that it would be different if he was with Jane. Now even that had proved to be bullshit.

He sighed. He’d said all along she deserved more. She deserved better. And although he hated the thought of her in another man’s arms, he knew that’s where she belonged. She was his sister. Maybe not by blood, but that didn’t change the reality. And the reality was that he shouldn’t even be thinking about whether or not his cock could make her happy.

A sharp rap at the front door startled him from his thoughts, and he pulled on the pair of gray sweatpants he kept on a hook behind the bathroom door and went to answer it. Once again, he assumed the guest would be Liam, and once again he was wrong.

His father stood on the threshold, his hands in the pockets of his plaid golfing slacks, the ones he wore when he wasn’t at the office even if there was no golf course in sight.

“Dad. Hey.” He knew he sounded confused, but that’s only because he was. He stepped aside and gestured for his father to enter. “What’s up?”

“Am I interrupting your phone call?”

“What?” The moment the question was out of his mouth he realized his mistake. Obviously his father had bumped into Jane doing a version of the Walk of Shame and she’d covered for them both. “No, I’ve been off for a few minutes. About to make a couple more, though.” He looked at his wristwatch for good measure.

“Hmm. Good to catch you between, then,” his dad said, not taking the hint. “I’ve been hoping to grab a few moments to chat with you.”

“Great. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got OJ and sparkling water in the fridge. And the bar is stocked if you want something stronger.”

“I’m fine.” Eli crossed the room to the one leather armchair, then waited for Dallas to sit. He chose to stand.

“Well, I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you, son.”

“Oh.” Dallas took a seat on the ottoman. Whatever he’d anticipated his father had come to say, that wasn’t it. Especially since Dallas had only yesterday told his father he was backing out on the Canadian launch events next week. “Well, thank you, sir. I’m very glad to hear it.”

“I don’t approve of your string of women, but you’ve been through the kind of hell I can’t imagine. I know you have to work through that, probably for your whole life. So while I don’t like it, maybe I understand it. At least a little.”

Dallas wasn’t at all sure where this was going, so he said nothing. Just sat on the ottoman and waited for his dad to keep talking.

“And while there’ve been a few times when you’ve missed a business meeting in order to—well, in order to engage in one of your liaisons, on the whole you’re doing a good job running your divisions. You’re an asset to the empire, Dallas.”

“Thank you.” His gratitude was sincere. But he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m your father, and I’m very proud to be. Sykes blood flows in your veins, Dallas, but you and I both know that it’s not my blood.” Dallas nodded slowly as his father’s meandering path became more clear. “My brother made some terrible mistakes during his life. Bad choices. Choices that ruined him.”

“I don’t remember anything about that, sir. I was very young.” That was true enough. Dallas had only been five when his birth mother—who he remembered only as smelling of cigarettes—had left him in the Hamptons.

Eli nodded. “You were. And I consider that a blessing.” He stood and went to the bar to pour himself a scotch. “You didn’t have enough time with Donovan for him to taint you.”

Dallas noticed that Eli didn’t mention the trouble that Dallas got into in high school. Experimenting with drugs. Theft. He’d been a fuckup and it had gotten him shipped overseas, and at the time, Eli had been more than willing to blame Dallas’s behavior on bad blood.

Honestly, Eli had been right.

Dallas really didn’t have any genuine memories of his birth parents, but as soon as he was old enough to read, he’d made it a priority to learn what he could. He’d found nothing about his birth mother. But about Donovan—his birth father and Eli’s brother—he’d found plenty.

If it was illegal or immoral, Donovan Sykes was there. A bad boy straight out of central casting, Donovan had fucked anything that moved, been arrested for possession of both heroin and cocaine, had partied with Hollywood stars, raced high-end cars down the Pacific Coast Highway, and basically offered himself up as the poster child for irresponsibility.

At first, Dallas had been disgusted with Donovan. But then, as he got older and started to have sexual thoughts about his sister, Dallas had been disgusted with himself. More than that, he’d feared Eli’s rejection, because hadn’t Eli written his brother off even before Dallas had been dumped on his doorstep? What was to stop him from writing off his adopted son, too?

Dallas had tested the limits of Eli’s love. He’d done drugs—mostly pot, but he’d experimented with harder stuff once or twice, too. He’d stolen cars. And, yes, he’d gotten himself off to thoughts of Jane.

And through all of it, his father had been there for him. Yes, he’d tossed around the “bad blood” insult, but he hadn’t tossed Dallas out on his ass—instead, he’d sent him away. And while being shipped off to boarding school had pissed Dallas off at first, he’d come to understand that his parents were trying to pull him back to them, not push him away.

Not that he’d realized all of that at the time. But during the last seventeen years of therapy he’d talked about more than the kidnapping. He was well aware of his litany of issues, and he knew that he’d conquered many of them.

The ones that still lingered were the deepest and the darkest, with Jane right down there in the center. A place he really didn’t want her to be, but where she would remain until he could somehow exorcise her from his heart.

And that, he knew, was never going to happen.

His father returned to the chair, pausing in front of Dallas long enough to hand him a drink, which Dallas took gratefully.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not really sure where you’re going with this.”

“I just want you to remember that, like it or not, he’s your father, too. So think hard when you move through your life, son, about whose footsteps you want to follow.”

Was this about his public lifestyle? Or was it about Jane? Was his father simply giving Dallas some fatherly advice on how to behave in the world of business? Or was he issuing a subtle reminder that his threat to disinherit still lingered?

He met his father’s eyes. “I don’t ever want to disappoint you or Mom.”

“I know you don’t, son. And that’s one of the reasons I’m so proud of you. I just thought I should tell you. I don’t think I tell you often enough.”

Message delivered, Eli stood. “Well, then. I should probably go see what your mother’s up to. Will we see you in the main house for dinner?”

Dallas thought of Jane. More, he thought about how he really didn’t want to run into her, not after what just happened. He was too raw. Too goddamn mortified. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ve still got to run through my call list. I may just grab a sandwich and visit with Poppy later.”

“Sounds good.” As they walked to the door, his father started rattling off some thoughts about an upcoming company retreat. Dallas barely even listened. Instead, his thoughts were on Jane. On Deliverance. On Adele and the dark places into which he so often sunk.

And he knew that whether or not he wanted to, inevitably he would disappoint the people he loved.

Liam was coming toward the bungalow as Eli was leaving, and Dallas left the door open so his friend could enter.

“Good trip?” he asked, as Liam shut the door and crossed to the bar. He dropped his leather messenger bag on the floor and pulled down a glass.

“This place is a pain in the ass to get to,” Liam complained. “Especially if you have to crisscross all over the globe to manage it.” He poured a shot of tequila and drank it straight, an affinity that Dallas neither understood nor shared.

“I saw Poppy, though,” Liam said. “He’s pretty spry for a hundred.”

“That he is.” Dallas joined him at the bar and poured his own drink. Frankly, he could use it.

“So where’s Jane?” Liam said. “I figured she’d be here.”

Dallas looked at him sharply. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.” He didn’t want to talk about it, tiptoe around it, or even fucking think about it. Not now. Not yet.

Liam held up his hands, signaling surrender. “No need to bite my head off, man. I was just wondering about her.”

“Yeah, well here’s a suggestion. Don’t.”

“What bug crawled up your ass?”

“This conversation is finished, Foster.”

Liam cocked his head. “Yes, sir, Mr. Sykes.”

He waited a moment, just studying Dallas, then he bent to the bag, pulled out a small box wrapped in plain brown paper, and passed it to him. “For Crowley’s party on Friday. Three bugs. Office. Foyer. Living room or the bedroom. Bedroom’s better, obviously, but harder to pull off. That’s it. Nothing you haven’t done a dozen times before.”

Dallas nodded, then set the package aside. For a second, he hesitated, not wanting to be crossways with his friend. But all he said was, “Thanks. I’ll call you when they’re set.”

“Then I guess we’re good to go.” Liam hoisted the bag back onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you at the party tomorrow, D.”

And then he walked to the door and headed outside. And Liam Foster, one of Dallas’s closest friends in the world, didn’t once look back.