I was so bloody tired I couldn’t sleep.

I lay awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling. My room was quiet. Cold, just how I liked it for sleeping.

But I was burning up.

Kicking off the covers, I turned my pillow over to the cool side. I should not have had that bourbon. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time. Now? Not so much. I hardly drank anymore. I never had time to go out, so liquor hit me like a fucking semi truck these days.

Usually it was my work—my family—that kept me up at night. But tonight it was Emily who made my thoughts churn. I couldn’t shake the dissonance between her confident, enormous smile on the dance floor and the raw defeat in her eyes on the front step. I hated to see someone so lovely brought so low.

It bothered me.

She deserved better. I wanted better for her. Why she’d stayed with that fuckwad after he’d cheated on her the first time—

I let out the breath I’d been holding. That wasn’t my call to make. Who knew what went on behind closed doors? Love messed with your head. It made mincemeat of your rational mind. I understood that better than anybody.

Still, that didn’t stop me from wondering what I could’ve done to keep Em away from Luke. What if I’d tried harder to make her stay that afternoon in my office? What if I’d been honest about how I’d really felt? Maybe she would’ve sent Luke’s call to voicemail. Then—

But it didn’t matter what would’ve happened then, did it? Because it didn’t happen. It wasn’t real.

The trouble my family was in, though? That was.

Fixing that trouble had to come first. Always. My behavior had far-reaching consequences. I had to stay in control so I could do my duty.

Em had at least trusted me with the truth. That was something. I had to go gently with her. Go slowly. She was scared of getting close. Rightfully so.

I’d be damned if she was scared with me.

I’d called in several favors with the press and promised many more. It appeared we’d get lucky and only the good photos of Emily and I together would be published in the morning. The photos of us dancing would certainly aid our cause, and that was all because of her. Because she convinced me to get my head out of my ass and enjoy myself for once.

Had she genuinely enjoyed herself, too? I replayed the moment our faces touched on the dance floor. Had she been acting then? Or had the heat in her eyes been real?

The “touching lesson” she suggested was probably a stupid idea.

Scratch that. It was definitely a stupid idea. Tonight I’d learned the physical attraction we’d had all those years ago was still there. I could not slip up and act on it. I could not lose control.

Although my dick twitched at the idea of putting my hands on Emily again. She had a gorgeous body. The way she’d moved it against me, rolling her hips, those perfect tits—

Fuck. I was hard.

I reached down and wrapped my hand around my erection. I sucked in a breath. There’d be no sleep for me. The damn thing had to be taken care of right bloody now so I could get at least a few hours’ rest.

Just this once. I’d allow myself to fantasize about Emily just this once, and then I’d never think of her this way again.

I swiped my thumb over the crown of my dick. Just this once I’d let myself imagine her naked in my bed. She’d spread her legs, and I’d lick her cunt, her hot, wet, perfectly tight cunt. I’d make her say my name. I’d make her come, again and again and again, and then I’d slide into her, she’d be so bloody hot, I’d feel the beat of her heart inside her pussy…

If Emily Kilpatrick was mine, I wouldn’t make her cry.

I’d make her fucking come.

I came in a burst of sensation and light, my hips bucking off the bed with the force of my orgasm. It left me sputtering for air, my heart pounding, the muscles in my legs cramping. Bright neon dots blurred my vision.

It left me feeling as empty and blank as the ceiling above me.

Loneliness sat so heavy on my chest I couldn’t breathe. The silence around me screamed. I needed—what did I need? To be with someone. Talk.

Emily. I wanted to talk to her. About everything. Nothing.

I just didn’t want to be alone.

I moved like a man possessed. Out of bed, bathroom, quick clean up. I threw on sweats and the first shirt I found—a tee broken in beyond recognition.

My footfalls were quiet on the rug in the hall. The muscles in my calves ached from bunching up just now. Emily’s room was three doors down from mine. When I got to her door, I put my hand on the knob. She was just on the other side. I imagined I could hear her breathing, even and deep, her mind as tranquil as mine was unsettled.

I raised my hand to knock. I hesitated. I had no right to do this. It was in direct violation of the contract (contact outside of our official engagements wasn’t really supposed to happen). Would she even want to see me? What if I scared her? To be honest, I was scaring myself.

Ten years ago, I’d decided to bury my grief. My siblings had been so young when it’d happened. I’d had to be the strong one. The parent. So I’d slapped on a stiff upper lip and got on with it. Joy was gone, but so was hurt.

That decision had worked out so far. It was lonely. But it worked. Then Emily Kilpatrick comes crashing back into my life, and all of the sudden I couldn’t stand the loneliness. Maybe she reminded me of what I’d been missing all this time. What it’d been like, having someone there to help shoulder the burden of my position the way mum and dad had done for each other.

But Emily wasn’t that someone. She couldn’t be.

I leaned my forehead against the door and let out a breath. What the hell was I thinking? No matter what Emily said, or how much better she’d make me feel, she wasn’t sticking around.

She wasn’t going to fill the gaping hole inside me that opened up the day my parents died.

I rolled my head against the door. And then I stood up and went back to my room.