Page 8 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
She stood frozen in the doorway, her hazel eyes wide and panicked. The composed woman who had walked out of my life over three years ago had been replaced by someone who appeared ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she wore a simple black blazer that did nothing to hide the way her hands trembled at her sides.
"Please, sit." I gestured to the chair across from my desk, keeping my voice steady despite the thunder in my chest.
She moved toward the chair carefully, each step seeming to cost her considerable effort. I watched her settle into the leather seat, her spine rigid and her knees pressed together. The space between us felt cluttered with unspoken things, too large to close the gap, too small to be truly comfortable.
I pressed the button on my desk and shuttered the glass walls of my office, blocking the view from the outer reception area. The last thing either of us needed was an audience for whatever conversation was about to unfold. The soft hum of the drapes engaging seemed to make her shoulders tense further.
Standing, I walked around the desk and leaned against its edge, positioning myself closer to her but not close enough to make her feel trapped. The height advantage felt wrong, so I crossed my arms and studied her face, searching for some sign of the woman I remembered.
"How is your mother?"
My question was gentle in spite of the guilt suddenly clamping down on my chest. It was a bad topic choice on my part, forcing me to remember the promise I made to Bill years ago as I brought Barbara up. Ivy's eyes flickered up to meet mine for the briefest moment before darting away again. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
"She's fighting. The doctors are optimistic about the treatment plan." Her tone seemed practiced, as if she had rehearsed that line just for me, but she was flustered as she said it. "Thank you for asking."
"And how are you holding up?" This time, she didn't look up at all. Her fingers twisted together in her lap, and I could see the effort it took for her to sit still under my scrutiny.
"I'm managing."
The deflection was so typical of her that it actually made me smile, though I doubted she saw it. Ivy had never been one to admit weakness or ask for help, even when she was younger andshe would show up at company events with shadows under her eyes from studying too late or worry lines from dealing with her father's latest disappointment in her choices.
"We never got the chance to talk, Ivy…" My words only made her tense more. Her body went rigid like a deer in headlights and it made my gut churn to see it happening. I expected surprise, not dread. I didn’t want to be a predator to her, but it appeared maybe I was.
"Duncan." She finally looked at me directly, and the pain in her eyes was unmistakable. "We can't. We're going to be working together, and my mother is sick, and my father would never understand if he knew?—"
"Did you even tell them it happened?"
The question cut through her deflection, and I immediately regretted the sharpness in my tone. But I needed to know. The not knowing had eaten at me for three years, wondering if she had confessed our night together to her parents, if Bill knew what I had done and simply chosen never to confront me about it.
Her silence was answer enough. She stood abruptly, the movement so sudden that her chair rolled backward. I straightened, acutely aware of how much larger I was than her, how my presence might feel overwhelming in the confined space of my office.
"I need some water."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and I could see the tremor in her hands as she pressed them against her sides. Without a word, I moved to the small refrigerator built into my office's wet bar and retrieved a bottle of water. I twisted the cap off before handing it to her, our fingers brushing for the briefest moment as she took it.
The contact sent electricity up my arm, the same jolt I remembered from three years ago. From the way her breath caught, I knew she felt it too.
She raised the bottle to her lips, but her hands were shaking so badly that water splashed down the front of her blazer. She made a small sound of frustration and tried to set the bottle down on my desk, but it slipped from her grip entirely.
I was there before it hit the floor, catching the bottle and steadying her elbow with my free hand. The touch was meant to be helpful, nothing more, but the moment my palm made contact with her arm, she broke.
The sob that escaped her was raw and desperate, the sound of someone who had been holding back tears for far too long. Without thinking, I set the water bottle aside and pulled her against my chest, my arms closing around her trembling form.
She didn't resist. If anything, she seemed to collapse into me, her face pressed against my shirt while her shoulders shook with silent sobs. I held her carefully, afraid that too much pressure might make her pull away but desperate to offer whatever comfort I could.
Her hair smelled the same, bringing back memories of that night more than three years ago when she had fallen asleep in my arms and I had spent hours breathing in the scent of her shampoo, something floral and clean. It felt wrong—very wrong. She was right about Bill. He would be furious with me, and I knew it.
"Ivy." I spoke her name quietly, my lips close to her ear. "I don't want to make things worse for you. But I need you to know that I haven't kissed another woman since that night."
She went very still in my arms, but she didn't pull away.
"You weren't a one-night stand to me. When you left, I thought I had done wrong by you. I thought you hated me for what I let happen."
"No." The word was muffled against my chest, but I heard it clearly. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was me. I'm the one who?—"
I loosened my hold on her enough to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. She was beautiful in the way that broken things could be beautiful, fragile and precious and requiring careful handling.
"You didn't do anything wrong, either."
