Page 18 of Katie 3

He blinks and rubs his forehead, as if he can knead the thought away. “Katie, there’s just a lot to handle. And I don’t want to—” He stops, doesn’t finish.

“What? Hurt me?” The words come out too sharp, too broken. “I’m not glass. I can take it. If you want to yell at me, or tell me I’m ruining your life, I can handle it. But don’t pretend I’m not here.”

He stands so abruptly the chair nearly topples over. He paces a line behind the desk, then stops and looks at me, something wild in his gaze. “You think I hate you for it?”

I shrug, but my throat is so tight I can barely swallow.

He comes forward, never breaking eye contact. “I don’t.”

“Then why do you treat me like a stranger?” It comes out harsher than I meant, and I instantly regret it.

“Because this is a mess,” he admits, voice low. “It’s a situation I should have prevented. I was supposed to protect you, and instead—” He gestures to the space between us as if it’s something rotten. “I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” I say, desperate now, pleading. “You can’t control everything. I…” I can’t finish. I’m crying, and I don’t want him to see. I close my eyes, swiping at my face, but he’s already in front of me.

He doesn’t touch me and the small distance between us feels like too much.

I bite my lip, searching his face for proof I haven’t ruined everything. “If you don’t wantit…” I say, quietly. “If you can’t stand the thought of it, I can—”

“Stop.” His voice is sudden and hard. He reaches for my hand and grips it, tight. “Don’t say that. Not ever.”

“But you’re not the same,” I whisper. “You don’t even look at me.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tensing.

“If you want me to get rid of it…” The line hangs between us. “Just tell me you can’t do this.”

He staggers back as if I hit him. “No. No. You don’t…” He drags his hands through his hair. “Katie. I didn’t think that, not for a second. Christ.” His arms fold around himself. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“Then tell me what to do,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Don’t let me drown.”

“Angel,” he whispers and steps closer. “I was angry, but not at you. I was angry at myself. I kept thinking if I’d… if I’d kept the family together, maybe all this—” The words grind out, rough and honest. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” He gazes down at me, and it’s so much like how it used to be, before everything got complicated, before I realized I was in love with all of them, not just one. I can see he remembers too. His eyes soften, the lines around them easing.

“I missed you,” I say, then instantly blush at how transparently needy I sound.

He smiles. “I missed you too.”

“I want you,” I say, voice barely audible. “I want you to want me.”

He doesn’t move, but something in his face shifts. “Katie,” he warns, but I see the conflict. He’s battling himself. I know that look—it’s the same one from before, when I was his stepdaughter, when he thought any desire was a sin and not inevitable.

I edge closer, until I sense the heat radiating off him. I rest my forehead on his chest, breathing him in. The tang of his aftershave, the salt of stress sweat, the truth of him.

He tenses, but he doesn’t move away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says into my hair.

“You won’t.”

I tip my chin up and press my mouth to his. It’s not soft or sweet. It’s bruising, desperate, and he answers it with a groan that’s half-anguish, half-relief. He cages me in his arms, and when I tremble, he steadies me with his hands on my hips.

He kisses me harder, his tongue hot and insistent.

He lifts me onto the desk, sweeping aside a stack of files. The glass of bourbon tips, and the liquid spreads across a manila folder. I don’t care. I only care about the way his hands run up my legs, spreading my thighs, tugging the robe aside so I’m exposed to him.

He falters, lips barely brushing mine, and his voice is dark and low. “Angel…”

“Please,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He releases a breath that shakes his whole body. Then he’s on me, devouring my mouth, my throat, the hollow at my collarbone. He peels open the robe and stares at me, wide-eyed and reverent. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and I sob a little, the sound caught in my throat.

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