Lachlan led me to an alcove that was partially obscured by a dark navy curtain and then up the stairs to his office. Unlocking the door, we stepped inside, and he gestured toward a leather sofa before pouring himself a whisky at a tidy bar on the other side of the room.

Looking back at me over his shoulder, he raised his glass. “You want one?”

I nodded. I didn’t say that I’d probably need a dozen more by the time this conversation was over.

He passed me a half-full glass and settled his long, lean body into the chair behind his desk while I inwardly berated myself for coming here tonight.

With his eyes trained on the amber liquid swirling around the crystal tumbler, he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

When Lachlan raised his eyes to mine, I tried to tell myself I didn’t recognize the look in them, that he wasn’t staring at me with the same sort of hope I'd felt growing in my chest all night.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

Lies.

I knew the real reason I’d returned. The truth was, I hadn’t stopped thinking about this handsome, alluring, dangerous man since I’d jumped out of his car two weeks ago, and even though I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to let my attraction to him get the better of me, it had.

It so fucking had.

I couldn’t eat. Nothing tasted as good as what Lachlan fed me. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way he’d looked at me in the seconds just before I’d told him I was looking for a friend. And I really couldn’t think straight.

Landing in Edinburgh, I’d made a promise to myself that I was going to finish out my contract and then I’d retire. Only once I was out of the public eye, would I examine that dark and dirty part of me. I’d spent my whole life pretending it wasn’t there—that I didn’t look at other men and wonder what their bodies would feel like writhing beneath my own—what was two more years?

Except a sexy chef named Lachlan MacLeod had crumbled my resolve.

I’d woken up this morning, my body sweating and shaking as my hips ground into the mattress, cum staining my sheets, with his name on my lips as I’d moaned myself to consciousness.

I’d tried telling myself I was making a bigger deal out of these feelings than necessary. Sure, I was attracted to Lachlan. Over the years, I’d been attracted to several men, but I’d never acknowledged those feelings in any meaningful way. Except for Conor, I’d always been able to deny that baser part of me; surely I could do the same where Lachlan was concerned.

To prove my willpower was stronger than my desire, I’d decided to test myself by seeing him again. I’d even gone so far as to ask the hostess to sit me at the bar so that I could be near him. And then I’d waited a long, drawn-out hour for my seat. Several times during those sixty minutes I’d thought about leaving, but I told myself if I didn’t go through with this, I’d always wonder.

And I’d already spent way too much of my life wondering about things I’d never be able to go back and change. I didn’t want this to be one of them.

I’d tried to fight it—I really had. But it was time to admit I’d lost the battle. Time to acknowledge I’d never stood a fucking chance.

Lachlan took another sip. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”

Fuck, how could he read me so well?

Silence stretched between us, and I leaned back to let my head settle against the cushions. “I don’t know how to say it,” I finally answered, gazing up at the low ceiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

I raised my head. “Sure.”

“That night in my car, you said one thing, but it felt like you wanted to say something else. Did I misinterpret that?”

I held his stare for what felt like forever but was only a few protracted seconds. “No, you didn’t misinterpret things.” I sat up and rested my forearms on my thighs, the glass dangling between my knees.

“And that’s why you stayed away? Because it scared you?”

“It fucking terrified me,” I answered, throwing back the last of my scotch with a wince.

He nodded, almost like he’d expected that answer, and then finished his whisky, too. He rolled his chair over to the bar and refilled his glass.

“You want another?” he asked, raising the bottle my direction.

I leaned forward and passed him my empty glass. “Yeah, and you should probably keep them coming.”

When I took the glass from his outstretched hand, I made sure not to touch him. If Lachlan noticed the evasion, he didn’t comment on it. In fact, he didn’t comment at all. Instead, he sat back and stared at me evenly, waiting for me to continue.

“I’m not gay,” I blurted and then grimaced because of how angry and accusatory my voice sounded. I cleared my throat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. There’s not.” As I continued speaking, sweat prickled the back of my neck and across my brow. I knew I was digging a hole for myself, but I couldn’t seem to keep my fucking mouth shut. “I like pussy. Scratch that, I love pussy.” I groaned. “Fuck, I love pussy.”

Lachlan’s eyes flashed with anger, and he set his glass down. Hard. “I’m going to stop you right there.”

“I’m sorry. I’m doing a piss poor job of this,” I apologized, shame coloring my words. “I’ve only ever talked about this with one other person. You must think I’m pathetic.”

“Not pathetic,” he answered, staring down at his glass. “But certainly confused.” His eyes found mine again, waiting for me to agree.

“Yeah, confused is one way to put it. Fucked up is another.”

When he didn’t reply, I grew agitated. Setting my glass to the side, I slapped my palms to my knees. “It was a mistake coming here. I’m going to—”

“Sit down, Liam.”

Lachlan’s jaw ticked, and I halted, shivers skating down my spine. My whole life I’d obeyed coaches and captains, but another man had never spoken to me in a way that immediately stopped me in my tracks—in a way that made me want to do his bidding. Consequences be damned.

Holy fucking Christ.

I was hard again, imagining all the ways I wanted to do his bidding; all the filthy, erotic ways I wanted him to use me. To defile me.

Slowly, I sank back into my seat, taking extra care to hide my straining erection—or at least trying to. But when I looked up, Lachlan’s eyes were glued to the bulge in my jeans. I watched in rapt fascination as he licked his lips and brought his gaze back to mine.

His voice a low growl, he asked, “Have you ever fucked a man?”

I blinked long and slow, and an image of Lachlan bent over his desk, his fingernails digging into the wood, flashed behind my eyelids. With a groan, I opened my eyes. “No.”

“But you’ve wanted to?”

I shifted in my seat, my caged erection growing painfully hard. I swallowed, but my throat was dry. “Yes,” I admitted.

He nodded. “I’m going to assume you’ve never been fucked either,” he observed, his voice sounding like warm honey drizzled over cold vanilla ice cream.

Fuck, I wanted to eat him up—every single decadent drop.

I don’t know what he saw on my face, but he smirked, and I felt the need to explain myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the first clue how. “I just—”

What, exactly?

Lachlan wasn’t Conor, a man who’d given me everything I’d ever wanted without my needing to ask only to turn around and use it against me. And he wasn’t Declan either, someone who’d always suspected I played for both teams but had never judged or asked for clarification.

“I think I’m bi,” I breathed, the words rushing from my lips in a quick gust.

Lachlan flexed his fingers, the only outward sign that he’d heard me until he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Bi, or bi-curious?”

I huffed out a laugh. “I’ve gone way past the curious phase.”

His eyebrows dropped into a deep vee. “But you said—”

“I said I’ve never fucked another guy before. I didn’t say I hadn’t thought about it approximately one million times..” I blew out a frustrated breath and dropped back against the sofa cushions.

“Just so I’m clear. You have some experience with guys?”

I nodded tightly. “One time, a couple of months ago.”

“And it left you wanting more.”

He wasn’t asking—he was acknowledging the thing I hadn’t said aloud myself.

“Yes, I want more.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But—”

“But what?”

I gripped the back of my neck and squeezed. “Fuck, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

This was not the way I’d expected this conversation to go. Then again, what had I expected? If I were honest with myself, I’d hoped I’d fail my stupid test, and then Lachlan would take the decision out of my hands. That he’d do exactly what Conor had before him, so I wouldn’t have to think about how my actions might affect me down the road.

But that’s not what was happening.

Lachlan was forcing me to vocalize what I wanted, and I didn’t know if I appreciated that about him or resented him for it.

“Here’s the thing, Liam,” he said. “In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, I’m gay. Openly. And while you profess to love pussy, I love cock. Specifically, I’d like to love your cock.”

Said cock twitched in my pants, and like the Grinch’s cold black heart, grew three sizes.

This time, I didn’t try to hide the way his words affected me. I didn’t care if he knew he made me rock hard or that my chest rose and fell with deep, anxious breaths.

But then Lachlan went and threw cold water on my fantasies. “The problem is, you’re obviously not ready for that. I decided a long time ago not to be someone’s plaything while he figured out what—and who—he wanted.”

He stood and walked to the door. Opening it, he looked meaningfully at me and then it, his point clear. “So as nice a guy as you are, Liam, I’m going to say this is where we say goodbye. Good luck with … everything.”

And then he walked out, leaving me sitting there wondering what the fuck I’d just done.

Again.