Page 123 of All Twerk, No Play

I leaned closer to whisper. “Remember the first time we had sex, and you mentioned that Melissa Etheridge lyric, about opening the back door?”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” he said with a sexy grin. “The thought of anal sex made you giggle?”

“Well, sort of,” I paused, biting my lip. It was more about the phrase of sneaking in, but if I explained that, I’d have to tell him more. “I was just… remembering what you said. That I’d like it.”

“Yeah? You want to try it sometime?” he said in a low voice as his hand slid around my waist, closer to my butt. “I’d make it so good for you.”

“Yeah,” I said on a soft breath, leaning closer to him, believing every word that came out of his mouth. Wanting to accept everything he was willing to give, and wanting him to offer him everything I had. ”You make everything better.”

Our lips met again in a sweet kiss before he pulled back. I took a deep breath, looked into his eyes … and chickened out. “But I do have to get to work eventually.”

He laughed and started walking again as I finished my breakfast burrito and tossed the paper towel in a nearby trash can. When we arrived at the door to my building, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Do we have dinner plans tonight?”

“I was going to put some chicken in the crockpot before we left, but somebody hijacked my morning,” he said with that boyish smile I loved.

“Let’s go out,” I said, kissing him softly. “I’ll meet you after your evening class.”

He kissed me goodbye on the steps, a lingering kiss.

A forever kind of kiss.

I skipped up the steps, floated past Connor and Alex, and walked into my office … where my whole body stiffened when I realized I wasn’t alone.

“Now I understand why you started your own business, if you breeze in after nine and get that kind of sendoff,” said my father in his deep, authoritative voice.

"Oh Daddy," Fleetwood Mac

Victoria

ArthurBlackstone,silverhairgelled and suit pressed, leaned against my office window ledge, overlooking the street where Cruz was now walking home, oblivious to whatever havoc my father was here to wreak.

He’d never just shown up like this before, but now he stood unannounced in my law firm on a Tuesday morning, 200 miles from his New York office.

Breath catching in my throat, I paused in the doorway. He’d taught me not to speak first when you don’t know the terms of the negotiation.

“More feminine than I expected, but it’s a nice space,” he said, standing from the window ledge. He inspected my stapler, then put it down crooked.

I straightened it. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re avoiding my calls.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” I tried to keep my voice calm over the insistent pounding of my heart. I’d dodged his calls and texts for almost two months. Maybe deep down, I’d known that this reckoning was coming.

He sat in the guest chair, elbows on his knees in the same pose Alexander took to seem unassuming. Had I taught Alex that? Had he seen my dad do it and adopted it?

Or was it how predators put their prey at ease before they attack?

“You might not have anything to say, but you need to listen. The future of Sinclair Larsson depends on it.”

It felt like my blood had stopped pumping. Like time had stopped, and rewound, then sped up, and stopped again. My heartbeat was erratic with confusion and curiosity and … and anger. Why was hehere?

I was finally fucking happy, and whatever he was going to say about ‘the future of Sinclair Larsson’ was going to fuck that all up.

I lifted my chin. “I’m the Founding Partner of my own firm. I don’t need Sinclair Larsson.”

His eyes crinkled as he suppressed a smirk. What was that look? Was thatpride? After years of fighting to earn that expression, I swallowed my instinctual clamoring to win his praise.

Then his face sobered, frown lines etched along his forehead and mouth. I’d seen that expression twenty-five years ago, when he pulled up a chair at the recital hall to face me on my piano bench.

---