Page 37 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
He glanced up, folding the paper with crisp precision. "What kind of emergency?"
"Client presentation got moved up. I need to help prepare materials."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. My father's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Drive carefully."
I kissed each of the triplets goodbye, grabbed my keys, and left before anyone could ask more questions.
The drive to Duncan's house took twenty-five minutes through Boston's evening traffic. I'd looked up his address in the company directory, telling myself I needed it for emergency contact purposes. His neighborhood surprised me—tree-lined streets, modest colonials, nothing ostentatious. I'd expected something grander, more imposing. A fortress to match the man.
He waited on the front porch as I pulled into his driveway. He'd changed out of his work clothes into dark jeans and a graysweater that made his eyes look storm-cloud blue. My hands trembled slightly as I turned off the engine.
"You found it okay?" he asked as I approached.
"GPS made it easy."
He opened the front door, gesturing for me to enter first. The interior matched the modest exterior—clean lines, comfortable furniture, nothing flashy. Books lined a row of built-in shelves and a chess set sat half-finished on a side table. I caught the scent of coffee and the hint of his cologne that I remembered from four years ago.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"Coffee would be good."
He led me through the living room toward the back of the house. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a patio surrounded by mature oak trees and tall privacy fencing. String lights hung between the branches, casting everything in soft amber.
"This is beautiful," I said, stepping outside.
"It's why I bought the place. Most lots around here are small, but this one backs up to conservation land. No neighbors behind me for miles."
He disappeared inside to get the coffee, leaving me alone with the evening air and my racing thoughts. I sat on one of the cushioned chairs, trying to organize what I wanted to say. We needed to establish boundaries. We needed to discuss what happened in his office last week and why it couldn't happen again. Or rather, why I was too scared to allow it to happen again.
"Here." He returned with two mugs, handing me one before taking the chair across from me.
The coffee was perfect—strong, but not bitter. I wrapped my hands around the mug, using it as armor against the intimacy of the setting.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"We need to talk about work, Dunca. About keeping things professional at the office." If I didn't come right out and say it, I would end up back in his arms and that was a recipe for disaster, no matter what Mom thought.
"Do we?" His tone caught me off guard. I'd expected him to agree, to suggest we pretend the past had never happened. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying my face in the string-light glow. "I've been thinking about you for four years, Ivy. Not every day, but often enough. I told myself it was guilt, that I'd taken advantage of a situation I should have walked away from. Your father trusted me."
"You didn't take advantage."
"Didn't I? You were twenty. I was thirty-nine. You'd had a fight with your parents about college, about your future. You came to my apartment upset, looking for someone to listen. Instead, I?—"
"I kissed you first."
The made him pause and he set down his coffee mug, his expression shifting. "You did. But I should have stopped it there."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I'd been wanting to do it for months." Shame washed over his face as he said it. "I know I'm an idiot, but even after that scandal I still wanted to. And Bill forcing me to make that promise opened a door to a fantasy in my mind that would never have even occurred to me otherwise."
A breeze rustled the oak leaves above us. I stared down into my coffee, remembering that night. I'd been so angry at my parents, so tired of being treated as their fragile, precious daughter who couldn't make her own decisions. Duncan had listened without judgment, had treated me as an adult capable of making my own choices.
Even the choice to kiss him.
"Tell me about Maine," he said, changing the subject.
"What about it?"
