I sit in silence for a moment and try to digest what Aston just told me. The insane coincidence of us meeting each other through work, and then him finding out about my father being the investigator on his father’s death.

No wonder he was so distant and changed so quickly in the hotel room. He just had a whopper of a fact dumped on his shoulders. And there I was, totally clueless about the internal agony he was experiencing.

I feel like I understand him better. And the fact is, he’s chosen to open up to me about a thing that is so important to him. That means something.

The weight of his hand in mine is a lifeline. I squeeze it and peer up at him. I can see the conflicting emotions rolling across his face. His guard is back in place, at least somewhat.

“I expect you to keep everything I just told you in confidence,” he says quietly.

I nod. “Of course.” Truth is, if this got out, the media would probably have a field day with it, trying to solve it, bringing the murder back into the news…and dragging him along with it.

“Don’t tell your friends, family, and definitely not your father,” he says. “I’ve decided not to pursue any of the circumstances relating to my mom or my father’s death. I want to just move on. To be happy.”

Could that mean with me? Do we have a future, or am I crazy to think that what just happened, and him talking to me, has changed anything? “I want you to be happy too,” I say, squeezing his hand. It’s a neutral statement, one that doesn’t relay the emotions I’m feeling right now.

How I want to be a part of his life, even if it’s crazy and foolish. I know he’s got a dark past, one he struggles with. But he’s trying to get over it and live. To not let it hold him back. I want to help.

“Gemma,” he whispers, then leans closer to me. My heart gives an erratic thud. “I…I want to see you.”

“Okay,” I manage to say through a tight throat. See me how? What does this mean? Is it just sex? Is it dating?

He shakes his head and gives a light chuckle. “I can hear you thinking again,” he says. “Overthinking. I want us to just spend time together. I’m not so great at dating, I admit. I don’t like labels. Let’s just…”

“See what happens,” I finish for him. Probably not a bad idea. Going slow. Enjoying each other’s company.

“I will file something with HR to let them know,” he says, straightening. He releases my hand. “But I don’t want to make a big deal around the office.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say dryly. Like I’m going to send a memo around telling everyone I’m banging the head of the company. Does he think I’m dumb?

That makes him chuckle. “There’s that fire I like.”

The compliment warms me, and burns off the tinge of irritation I felt. He’s just trying to protect his privacy. I can understand that. I don’t need people gossiping about me.

I stand, smooth down my skirt. “Okay. Um. I should get back to work. Everyone is going to wonder what happened.”

“Tell them you and I discussed the meeting and that we mutually decided to continue any further points in a group email, as necessary.”

“Thank you.” I step toward the door.

“Gemma.”

I turn around. “Yes?”

He steps toward me, and my damned heart gives that strange squeeze it always seems to do around him. His hand reaches up and he smooths my hair. “You have fuck hair,” he says with a wry grin.

My face burns. “I wonder why.” With that, I leave the office, reeling from everything that just happened.

* * *

That night, I’m stretched out on the futon. It’s ten PM. I should be exhausted, but I can’t stop thinking about today.

When I got back to my desk, people were naturally worried that I had been fired. I assured them that after a lengthy discussion—boy, it was hard to not blush when I said that—he and I talked it out, and I told them what he said to. Skylar gave me a bit of side-eye about it but made no comment.

Right after that, we got a brief email from Aston outlining the points he’d like to discuss in email and thanking us for the useful information in the meeting. He also said everyone on the team was getting a five percent raise for all their hard work. Which went a long way to soothing bruised egos from the disastrous meeting.

I stretch out on my sofa bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim lamplight. That delicious soreness is between my legs again, and when I showered earlier, I noticed a small bruise on my hip from where he was gripping me so tightly. I have to admit, having a mark there makes it seem more real and gave me a wicked, intimate smile.

My phone buzzes. I reach over to the table and grab it. My lungs squeeze when I realize it’s a text from Aston.

You asleep?

No, I fire back immediately, not caring if I look desperate. I’ve been thinking about him all day. Just relaxing.

After a hard day at work?

It was…intense, I write, smirking. The boss went rough on me today.

Too rough?

No, I think it was just the right amount.

There’s a pause. Oh good. Perhaps you’d like to meet and discuss the matter on Friday night?

Is this a date? A hookup? I don’t know what to think. But I’m trying to remember what he asked of me, to take it slow and not be so quick to label things. I’m definitely open to a discussion, I write back.

There’s no reply for a couple of minutes. Then, he sends, I can still smell you on me.

I squeeze my thighs together against the sudden ache there. Whatever this turns out to be, it’ll be intense, that’s for sure. That felt so amazing today, I write.

Get some sleep. And I want you to plan an hour-long lunch break with me for tomorrow.

As if I could say no. I fall asleep thinking about the way he looked at me right before he came. The emotions I saw in his eyes. This man is going to be trouble for me, I know it. He’ll break my heart. But I can’t make myself want to stay away. I need this, even if it ends in disaster. He’s awakened me in a way I didn’t realize could happen. He’s brought out facets of me I didn’t know existed.

As long as I don’t fall in love, it’ll be okay.

* * *

The next couple of weeks pass in a flurry. Whereas they were dragging before he and I had sex in his office, they’re speeding by now. Spring arrives, and with it, a blessed break in the weather. We begin taking regular lunch breaks at the park, away from the office, whenever we can. I don’t care if it’s brisk—I just like being able to spend time with him.

So far, no one has noticed our outings, or at least commented on it. Not even Skylar, with her all-seeing eye. Of course, it helps that I rarely see him during the work day.

When I do, it’s like my whole body is awake. Like all I’m aware of is his every breath, his every move. I’m sensitive to the subtle nuances on his face. The way his eyes sweep the room and connect with mine for one lingering, powerful moment. Like there’s no one else around, just him and I.

I know he feels it too. That chemistry.

And that realization makes me heady. Aroused. I feel like I’m constantly in heat for him. The more sex we have, the more I want it. Ache for it. All he has to do is look at me a certain way, and I’m wet for him.

It’s been hell on my panties.

Not that I care. I’d buy a hundred pairs to have him touch me and make me feel the way he has.

It’s a Saturday night, and we’re in his limo on the way to his NYC club. I’m dressed in the swankiest outfit I have—a skin-tight black dress that plunges in the back and cups my breasts, and a pair of strappy heels that lace up to the knees.

When I entered the limo, the slow, appraising look he gave me made my body burn all over.

I’m beside him, his thigh pressed against mine. I’m so aware of him, his scent, the muscles of his body. I want him to take me here in the limo, driver be damned. I barely even recognize who I am anymore. So wanton and hungry.

He leans over and his mouth brushes against my ear. “You look fucking delectable. I can’t wait to strip that dress off your body and lick every inch of your skin.” His hand rests on my thigh.

I squirm in my seat, a thudding pulse taking up residence in my apex. “I want that,” I whisper back.

His fingers glide along my bare shoulders, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I close my eyes and revel in his touch. Funny how familiar it’s become to me now, even after such a short while. How my body recognizes and responds instantly.

We get to the club, and of course, we’re escorted right to the VIP section. The room is hopping with all kinds of celebrities—actors, musicians, politicians. A who’s who of famous faces. I do my best to not gawk.

This is so not my world. And I’m being reminded of it right now. Suddenly I don’t feel quite so glamorous or sexy. The women in here are stunning, and they own their sexuality, their prowess, their power. I feel small and awkward in comparison. Especially when one big-named actress gives me a dismissive glance and then laughs as she looks away to talk to another actress.

My face burns. Why did he bring me here? I’m just a copywriter. Nothing special.

Aston looks over at me, but I don’t look back at him. My jaw is tight and I’m trying not to cry or feel overwhelmed. It was one thing when I was with him on a job interview. It’s another to be at his side, scrutinized by a class of people I’ve never been exposed to before.

He takes my hand and winds his fingers through mine. Leans down and says, “You’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Everything melts away, and I stare up into his sincere eyes. He means it, even if just right now. And my heart is galloping away so hard that I know it’s gone.

I’m falling for this man, as crazy fast as it seems. As dumb as it seems. I’m falling for him, for the way he makes me feel, for how he opens up to me and shares himself even though he’s clearly nervous.

“This place is stale,” he declares as he looks around the room. The actress who gave me the dismissive look before sees him and swallows when she realizes he’s staring dead at her. “Let’s go to my special VIP room,” he says to me in a quieter voice.

“Do you have a private booth there?” I ask.

When his eyes darken in arousal, I feel my own body respond. “Let’s go break it in.”

* * *

“Haven’t seen or heard much from you in a while,” my dad says as he ladles a heaping serving of chili into my bowl. It’s Sunday, and a basketball game is on in the background downstairs. Mom’s doing a spa day with her girlfriends, so it’s just him and I.

I was nervous about coming over without her there to mediate, but she asked me to do it, and I couldn’t say no.

“I’ve been busy,” I tell him. I grab cheese and sprinkle it liberally, then add a hunk of sour cream. Dad likes to make burn-your-face-off chili, and while I like it hot, I’m not quite up to his level. “Work and all that.”

“And all that?” He quirks a brow. “Are you seeing a guy?”

“Um.” I grab a spoon from the drawer. “Kinda.” I mean, I don’t know what we are still. I guess we’re dating? Maybe? I know how I’m feeling, but I’m still not sure where he is or how serious things are with us.

“I hope you’re being careful. And safe.” There’s a warning in his voice. “What’s his name?”

“No, Dad.” I look up at him, shaking my head. “You’re not going to do that.” I already know why he’s asking. He wants to have his buddies on the force run a full background check on whoever I’m seeing. I’m not ready for him to do that…like, ever.

But that does make me think about his mom. And the secret he told me. The one about how my dad was involved in the investigation with his biological father.

“What?” he gives me an innocent look, like I’m going to be fooled. “I’m just asking questions. Making conversation, is all.”

I follow my dad downstairs, and we settle onto the couch. We’re quiet for a few moments—him watching TV and me thinking about Aston. As always.

Dad takes a bite and chews. “So, work is going well?”

“Yeah. I’m enjoying it a lot,” I say. I clear my throat. I brought up to him before when I got hired that I was working for Aston…which honestly is part of the reason why I don’t want to tell him that we’re dating. But the other part is, I’m dying to know if he remembers anything about Aston’s father’s case.

Aston told me not to say a word to him. But the fact is, he went to such lengths as to have a PI do an investigation. I can’t see him actually letting this go for a long time…is he really going to shelve the search for the truth forever?

If he does, would it hurt for me to ask my dad some questions about it all?

“Um. So Dad.” Part of my brain is telling me to be quiet, but the bigger part wants to know the truth. There’s a big possibility it’s a nonstarter anyway, and at least I could rest easy knowing Aston isn’t missing out on important info. “You know how I’m working for Aston Chandler, right? At Chandler Industries?”

“Mm-hmm,” he says as he shovels in another bite.

“I…so I learned some news and wanted to see if you remember a particular case from a couple of decades ago. A man who died in a fire that was ruled accidental.”

His brow furrows, and he stares at me. Puts the chili bowl down on the coffee table. “Why do you want to know?”

“I…think that guy may be his biological father. And I know you worked on a case and it was ruled accidental. I don’t have his name or anything—”

“Henry Foreman,” my dad says without preamble.

“You remember him,” I breathe.

“Yeah. I remember him.” Dad’s face is grim, his eyes hooded.

“So, it’s a touchy situation. But I can’t help wondering if you have any insights based on that case.”

“There are public records,” he tells me.

“I know. I…” My face burns. “I admit, I’m intrigued.”

Dad eyes me. “Got a bit of the detective blood in you, don’t you.”

“I do,” I admit.

“Well, I guess there’s no harm talking about it now.” Dad sighs and settles back on the couch. Reaches for the beer on the side table and takes a swig. “That case always haunted me,” he says to my surprise. “I remember it especially well.”

“Why is that?” I find myself asking.

“Because I’m certain it was a homicide, and I suspect that Henry Foreman’s adult son committed the crime.”

I pause, taking in the information. So Aston has a half-brother out there? Does he know?

“So if it was a homicide, why was it ruled an accident? And why wasn’t the son brought in on suspicion of murder?” I ask Dad.

He sighs and puts his beer down. Suddenly he looks tired in a way I’ve never seen him. The years and years of police work weighing on his shoulders. “The chief of police at the time was working on higher profile cases and didn’t want to waste any more manpower on something he considered not helpful to his political cause.” The bitterness in Dad’s voice is evident, surprising me. “So I was forced to declare the fire accidental and move on to a higher-profile murder case instead.”

“Wow,” is all I can say.

“I never felt right about it,” he admits, raking a hand through his graying hair. “The case stunk to high heaven, and that man’s creepy son got away with murder. I know he did. I just wasn’t given the manpower to gather the evidence.”

My chest is tight, and I lock my fingers in my lap. I’m stunned, reeling from the news. And feeling conflicted. Part of me wishes I’d never asked Dad anything about it. But I did, and now I know.

Should I tell Aston what I’ve learned?

If I don’t, I’ll be carrying around this knowledge that might help him find answers. But if I do, I’ll be admitting that I went against his wishes. Given the subject matter though, perhaps he’d forgive me for it.

After all, I can see the emotion in his eyes. He’s still devastated about his mother. Looking for answers, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. This won’t be something he’ll put behind him. He’ll still want to know.

I think I should tell him. I think he maybe needs to know.

“Thanks for sharing that with me,” I say quietly.

“Gemma.” He sighs. “My tenure as a city cop was hard. But I did my best and I feel proud of the career I led. That case was one of the things that always hung around me like a noose. Knowing I was unable to do my job because of the political aspirations of the chief…it messed with me. Haunted me. I lost a lot of respect for him after that.”

“I would too.” It’s strange; despite the tension between my father and I recently, I never thought he’d be so open and vulnerable with me. Dad never revealed any of these things about his job—he’s always talked about it with pride.

Hearing him be human, it makes me feel closer to him. Understand him more.

“Well. Enough of that,” he says gruffly. “Better eat your chili before it gets cold.”

“As if it could,” I say lightly. I pick up the bowl and force myself to resume eating. To pretend that the information I got didn’t just flatten me.

I know something important now, a secret that will also burden me the way it has my father. But the difference is, I can help Aston do something about it when my father had his hands tied. I can help them both find closure on this situation.

It’s the right thing to do. I just hope Aston is willing to listen to me when I explain why I talked to my father.