Lying on Alex’s chest, I’m half-asleep and drugged by his heat. His hand strokes down my back in steady, soothing intervals. His heart beats beneath my ear.

“Will you tell me about the woman who died?” he asks softly.

“You’ve probably heard of her,” I say just as mutedly. “Margaret White.”

He sighs. “Ah, Lady Margaret. I’d wondered if she was who you were referring to.”

I lift my head, propping my chin on my forearms. “You knew her?”

He nods. “She was an incredible lady. A friend of my mother’s, and later of my sister, Candace.”

“Your mother was a philanthropist, too?” I guess.

“Only after my father convinced her to stop working.” I lift my brows, and he answers my unspoken question, “She was a high school English teacher for the Boston public school system.”

I blink. The wife of a billionaire teaching public school was a pretty spectacular notion. “She didn’t do the stay at home routine?”

He smiles fondly. “Not even close. She went straight from teaching to full-time philanthropy. But even with a husband, kids, and her work, none of us ever felt a lack of attention. She was amazing.”

I speak before thinking, “I wish I could have met her.”

His smile softens. “Me, too. She would have liked you. You actually remind me of her, a little.” I feign horror and he pinches my hip lightly. “Not in a Freudian way, just… my mother was such a classy woman, but only in public. In private, she was messy, creative, and had a wicked, sarcastic humor. Somehow, she existed in two worlds, almost like she was wired to be two people stuffed into one.” He shakes his head. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“No, you are,” I murmur.

His thumb grazes my jaw, whispers over my lower lip. “You also have a similar sharpness in your eyes. Like you’re always watching, listening, and processing, every second of the day. Like your head never shuts up, even when you sleep.”

I glance down, unsettled by how accurate his assessment is. “Sounds exhausting,” I say weakly.

“She passed that gene to her kids, so I can tell you from personal experience that it is exhausting.” He taps my lower lip. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

I nod against my forearms. “I call them hidden narratives. The stories that float around people, that can be read if you know how to look for them.”

I close my mouth abruptly. Margaret and Lillian are the only people I’ve ever told about the narratives. I’m not wearing clothes, but suddenly feel naked.

I’ve already given him too much.

I begin to push off his chest but he growls and holds me down. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Alex,” I begin faintly. “I don’t talk about this stuff.”

“What stuff?” he retorts, winking. “I didn’t hear anything. So, Damien Young, huh? What the hell were you thinking? He’s a complete jackass.”

I shake my head in an effort to catch up. “Uh, yes, he is. Next topic. How was the meeting with the flooring guys today?”

His eyes widen, then narrow with amused comprehension. “You’re going to play emotionally hard to get, aren’t you?”

“What? No. What does that even mean?” But I’m rambling, and a poor liar.

Alex clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not going to be put off that easily. I said I wanted everything, and I mean to have it.”

This time, I do push off him, shaking free of his grip. I grab my discarded t-shirt and pull it on, then bend over to lift pajama pants from the floor. Glad there’s only one light on—and it’s on the other side of the room—I hop to my feet and pull on the pants.

When I turn around, Alex is still lying contentedly naked, his arms folded behind his head. He lifts a sardonic brow. “Really, Thea?”

“Are you hungry?” I ask, rounding the bed. “There’s nothing in the kitchen but we can order something. Do you like Thai?”

He doesn’t say anything. I glance back to see him shaking with laughter, his stomach trembling with the effort to hold in sound. His eyes shine, creasing at the edges, and the cutest little frown wrinkles his brow.

For a moment, I just blink at him, bowled over by his beauty. Then I snap out of it, flushing with embarrassment and anger. “It’s not funny. Has it occurred to you that I’m not capable of giving you what you want?”

“Nope,” he says, grinning like he hasn’t a care in the world.

I want to yell: You have an expiration date! Instead, I stalk toward the door. “The tables have turned, Mr. Hughes. I’m ordering food and you’re going to eat whatever I decide you’re going to eat.”

His laughter follows me to the kitchen.

* * *

Alex eats what I order him without complaint—fresh spring rolls, panang curry with chicken—and also finishes my pad thai noodles. After clearing dinner from the coffee table, I wander around the living room needlessly organizing what little clutter Lillian and I possess. We’re both pretty minimalist in our buying habits. Lillian out of respect for my condo, me because being attached to things reminds me of my mother.

It’s after nine o’clock. Lillian is still out (she’d let Alex in and fled to Adam’s) but I don’t know when, or if, she’s coming home. Or, more pressingly, if Alex plans on spending the night. The possibility is both terrifying and enticing.

The source of my agitation sits lengthwise on the couch, looking comfortable and deliciously rumpled in jeans and a faded t-shirt. His long legs are crossed at the ankle, one arm behind his head as he scrolls through emails on his phone.

“You’re pacing,” he says, not looking up. “It’s making me dizzy. Come sit on my lap.”

I stop, take a step toward him, then pivot toward the bedrooms. “I actually need to take a shower.”

His distracted voice floats after me, “If you wait a minute, I’ll join you.”

I make it a mission to have the shortest shower of my life. I wash my hair and scrub down in record time, and am drying off when Alex walks into the bedroom. For a second, his somber expression alarms me. I should have waited for him.

Then he says, “I have to go back to Boston.”

My hands freeze while tying the towel over my chest. I look at him, but can’t quite meet his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Everything’s fine, I tell myself. You’re fine. It’s just happening sooner than you thought.

Blinking hard, I lean my shoulder on the bathroom door so I don’t fall over. By some stroke of luck, Alex doesn’t seem to notice my malfunction.

He sighs. “The idiot manager of Hyacinth has caused some major problems. I can’t put off dealing with them any longer.”

“Hyacinth,” I echo. “That was your first restaurant, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says fondly, then scowls. “Unfortunately, I lost a really great manager last year when she decided she wanted to be a marine biologist.”

“How rude of her,” I say, trying for humor.

His lips quirk. “I know. Anyway, I was in a tight spot when I hired Jackson. He looked great on paper, interviewed well. Lucy didn’t like him, though.”

I nod. “I heard you guys talking about him when I brought the sketches over.”

His eyes twinkle with humor as they find mine. “You left me so fucking hard that day, Thea.”

Heat surges into my cheeks. “Um, sorry?”

He chuckles. “Consider the debt settled.”

I clear my throat, squirming a little against the door. Although my libido is purring, I am now very sore. “So, Hyacinth?” I prompt.

Alex’s mirth fades. He drags a hand through his hair and looks away from me, out a window at the nighttime cityscape. “Some of the lead servers were working there for years. A couple of months ago, they started quitting. They wouldn’t answer my phone calls when I tried to find out why they left.”

“That’s weird.”

He nods. “Then I started hearing some rumors about employee mistreatment and customer complaints. The latter came from some friends of my father.”

“Ouch.”

He smiles tiredly. “To put it mildly. But every time I stopped in, everything appeared to be running smoothly. I even had private interviews with several employees and nothing popped. No one would tell me a damned thing. Almost like they were afraid of me.”

“They didn’t want to lose their jobs by ratting out their boss,” I speculate. “Or maybe this Jackson character has been using you as a scapegoat for his bad behavior.”

He nods. “That’s about what I’m thinking.”

I clear my throat. When are you leaving? When are you coming back? I won’t let the words come out, though. Alex continues staring out the window. I keep dripping on the floor. In another life, I might laugh at the picture of us.

“I fly out tomorrow morning,” he says finally.

It knocks a little air from my lungs, but I survive. “Okay.”

He takes a step toward me, which brings my eyes to his. Mistake. But one I can’t stop making. “Come with me,” he says softly, urgently.

“W-what?” I stutter. My heart flutters its baby wings, then stumbles and lands on its feathery face. “Alex, I can’t go with you to Boston. We’re critical with Hemlock right now.”

He sighs heavily. “Fuck, I know. I just…” He strides toward me. With my back to the door, I have nowhere to run. His hands frame my face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Of course,” I say bravely, rolling my eyes for good measure. “You can’t miss the opening of your own restaurant.”

He makes a low noise. “A week, maybe less. Not a month.”

The gentleness of his touch is driving me crazy. My stomach falls and turns. “Alex, we’re not… This isn’t…” I swallow and try again, “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t owe me any explanations or promises. I have both eyes wide open, believe me.”

His fingers tense, then drop. Something dark shifts in his eyes. “What does that mean?”

I blink. “What?”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes shuttered and distant. “Nothing, nevermind. I’ll call you tomorrow when I land?”

I squeeze out a strangled, “Sure.”

He stares at me a long moment. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Wh—” His lips silence mine. I gasp and he takes advantage, plunging his tongue into my mouth. There’s nothing gentle in him now. Our teeth clash, our lips bruise. I throw my arms around his neck and hang on—because really, what else can I do?

His arms lift me away from the door, up against his chest. My heart beats erratically. I’ve either lost the need to breathe or we’re sharing one breath.

“Thea, Thea,” he whispers into my mouth. “What am I going to do with you?” The question is rhetorical (thank God) and he kisses me hard and sets me down. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I smile. I nod.