I measure how close he’s standing to the exit. He keeps his eyes locked on mine and doesn’t move. My shoulders stiffen and I take the last few steps that separate us, reaching for the doorknob. My arm accidentally brushes across Nathan’s chest. I stop breathing and glance at him. We’re so close, I can nearly count every one of his surprisingly long eyelashes.

  Is he remembering the last time we were this close to each other? Because I am. And I shouldn’t be. Not only is he too young, but he’s part of an organization I want nothing to do with and left behind for a reason. His gaze doesn’t leave mine. Finally, I break eye contact, push open the door, and escape out into the cold.

  Nathan exits right on my heels. “I’m the black Mercedes over there.”

  Moments later, my suitcases are in the trunk and we’re on our way. I sit, staring out the window, but the passing scenery is nothing but a blur. Instead, it’s taking everything I have to pointedly ignore the enticing pepper, citrus scent of the man beside me. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but him to drive me?

  “Have I done something to offend you?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  I close my eyes for a second, glance in Nathan’s direction, and then turn my gaze forward again. “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because it sure seems as though I have.”

  I sigh. “No, you haven’t offended me. We barely even know each other.” I’d also like to keep it that way.

  “I’m pretty sure that dance we shared spoke volumes between us,” he remarks in a low tone that sends a shiver rushing through me. “Which means there must be some other reason why you didn’t want Jack and Rory to know that we are, in fact, acquainted. Although she knew you were lying.”

  That makes me turn toward him a second time in surprise. “Why’s that?”

  “She saw us dancing together at the wedding, if you remember,” he reminds me.

  Shit, that’s right. I’d forgotten.

  “I still don’t understand the denial. It was just a dance, Lucia.”

  But it felt like much more than that. “You’re right,” I say tightly. “It was just a dance. Nothing more.”

  Nathan doesn’t speak for several minutes—which I’m grateful for. It helps me to pull myself together. I can’t relax, though. So, I continue staring out the window, trying to shut him out. I finger my locket.

  “England, huh?” he asks, clearly not going to leave me in peace. “That’s where you’ve been living for the last three years?”

  My shoulders drop in defeat. “Yes. I’ve been working at the British Museum as the Lead Registrar of Acquisitions.”

  “Impressive.”

  “It is actually,” I snap. “I was the first woman under the age of thirty to be hired in that position. It’s a greatly sought-after and highly competitive job with one of the oldest museums in all of the United Kingdom.”

  “You don’t have to get defensive, Lucia. I was being sincere. I’m sure they wouldn’t have given you the job if you hadn’t earned it,” he says, glancing over at me.

  Reining in my irritation, I sag back in the seat. “Sorry. It’s just that no one takes my career seriously. They all consider it some hobby. Especially all the men in my family. They think it’s a waste of my time. That I should, instead, be finding some husband to take care of. As though that’s all us women are good for.”

  “I’m not those men.”

  “Oh, really?” I scoff. “So you don’t have a problem with the women in our mutual organizations finding their own careers instead of becoming ornaments on their powerful husband’s arms? Or sitting at home, waiting to get news that their husband has been killed in some ridiculous raid?” My chest heaves with anger.

  “This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t have the same opinion about a woman’s ‘place’ some people do,” Nathan replies with measured calmness. “As a member of a family such as mine, I probably should, but I don’t. No doubt my grand-da is turning in his grave.”

  “You might be the first man belonging to the syndicate I’ve ever met that doesn’t have antiquated views on a woman’s place,” I finally say.

  “Maybe it’s my age.” He winces, as though regretting bringing it up.

  I smile. “How old are you anyway? You never did tell me.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Call me curious,” I reply.

  Nathan squirms a bit in the driver’s seat. “I’m old enough to drink. If I remember correctly, that was something you mentioned when we first met.”

  “So you’re what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?” I’m not going to let it go. I need as many reminders as I can get that this attraction won’t—can’t—go anywhere.

  “I’m twenty-one, if it’s really that important to you.” He glances at me.

  I shake my head and mumble a curse under my breath.

  “You seem awfully fixated on my age for some reason. Why is that?”

  “I’m not ‘fixated’ on it,” I deny sharply, even though I am.

  “Yet both times we’ve been in each other’s company you’ve remarked on it. Like it’s important. I’m just trying to figure out why.”

  I take a heavy breath and let it out. “It’s not important. Truly.” Nathan’s age doesn’t matter. Not really. It’s being attracted to him that does. It’s the fact that, five years ago, I swore I’d never again get involved, in any way, with a member of the syndicate.

  “I’ve thought about you over the last three years,” he confesses.

  I jerk my head in his direction. “You have? Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “At least you’re honest.” I chuckle.

  “Next, you’re supposed to say you’ve thought of me, too.” Nathan’s grin widens.

  I don’t want to admit that I have, in fact, thought of him a few times. Mostly when I get a slight whiff of a citrus scent that reminds me of the cologne he still wears. Its faint fragrance lingers in the air. “Oh, I am, am I? I hadn’t realized that’s how things worked. Tit for tat, is it?”

  “Only when we both know it’s the truth.”

  I swivel in my seat to face him. “You have an awfully inflated opinion of yourself.”

  Nathan glances over at me. “Am I wrong?”

  My breaths stutters at the direct question. One I can’t—shouldn’t—answer.

  “Am I wrong?” he asks again when the silence lengthens.

  Against my will, I shake my head. “No. You’re not wrong.”

  Chapter 3

  Lucia

  Four months later

  * * *

  Every box looks the fucking same. They’re all blue and white or pink and white. I randomly grab three of them, because I don’t know which one to choose. Panic has long since set in, but I desperately try to control my trembling hands so I don’t drop any of them on the floor. I make my way to the till, grateful there isn’t a queue. All I want to do is pay for my purchases, run home, and hide. Except there’s not going to be any hiding.

  I dump the boxes carelessly on the counter. The clerk glances down at all of them and then back up at me. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. She must hear my unspoken plea, or measure the panic in my gaze, because she does nothing more than ring me up and place them in a bag. I nearly run back to my flat, my stomach tossing and turning the same way it has every morning for the last month. I swallow the nausea down as I pass my favorite coffee shop, the heavy aroma I normally love only worsening the sick sensation floating around inside me.

  The soles of my shoes thud on every step on the way up to the second floor, each one matching the pounding of my heart. I curse my shaking hand that makes it hard to slide my key in the lock. After two attempts, I finally manage it and then close the door behind me with a hard bang. I toe off my shoes and scurry to the bathroom, yanking each of the three boxes out of the bag and laying them on the counter.

  My head jerks up and I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m breathing heavy with exertion. Dark smudges color the skin beneath my eyes from the sleepless nights I’ve spent worrying and avoiding what I’m finally forcing myself to do. My hair is wild and frizzy from not even bothering to run a brush through it yet today. I’ve been too busy freaking out.

  I take a deep breath and reach for the first box. The instructions are simple and straightforward. Pee and wait. It takes me three tries to open the other two boxes and pull out the sticks to make sure they’re ready. Unlike me. I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. Just do it. Get it over with so you know one way or the other.

  Quickly, I pull down my pants, sit on the toilet, and one-by-one grab a white stick off the counter. The second I’m finished, I yank up my jeans and rush out of the bathroom. I can’t stay in here. Instead, I head to the kitchen to wash my hands. The counter lends its support to my sagging weight as I collapse against it. I nibble the nail I’ve already chewed til it bled and stare down the hallway leading to where the answer to the question I don’t want answered lies.

  My toe taps an impatient beat. There’s a buzzing in my ears that won’t go away. How much time has passed? Too much? Not enough? I should have set a timer. Instead, I drag out the memory behind the whole reason I’m freaking out.

  Nathan pulls into the darkened parking garage and begins circling each level. The entire drive here from Rory’s apartment I’ve been ignoring this stupid attraction I seem to have for him. He’s the first person in years to catch even a bit of my attention. I wish I knew why. He isn’t my usual type. Not with his reddish hair that looks as though someone has run their fingers through it, nor his bright blue eyes, or the light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Especially not with the ten-year age difference between us. Even more especially with him belonging to the Irish syndicate.

  Except no matter how much my mind rebels against it, my body won’t stop buzzing with awareness. The deep resonance of his voice that sends a shiver across my neck then runs straight down my spine to settle with a throbbing pulse directly in my core. His peppered citrus scent teases my nose with its alluring fragrance. It’s the heat in his gaze though that keeps doing me in.

  Nathan finally finds a parking spot in a corner and backs into it. He puts the car in park and turns in his seat to stare at me with those eyes of his that I keep falling into. “You know, England isn’t that far from Ireland. I’m considering going to see my Uncle Carrick and my cousins in a few months. It wouldn’t take much to hop over for a visit. Maybe you could give me a tour of that museum of yours?”

  For the length of a heartbeat I’m tempted, but I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Nathan asks softly.

  I want to tell him I’m afraid of this white-hot attraction I have for him. I’m afraid of what might happen if I give in to it. What if it turns into more than just something physical? What if it turns into heartache? I don’t say any of those things, however. Instead, I do what I always do when confronted with something I don’t want to admit. I push back.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” I scoff. “We danced—one time—three years ago. You’re acting like there was more to it than that.”

  “Actually, I think that’s you. I’m not asking you to marry me, Lucia. I just thought maybe we could get to know each other.”

  My face heats, because I am making this something more. Which only pisses me off. I’m being irrational. I can’t control myself.

  “You know what, I’m done. I have to get to my plane. “ I jump out of the car, ignoring Nathan growling my name as he gets out as well.

  Shit. I need my bags. “Open the trunk, please.”

  “Why are you running?” Nathan asks far too mildly.

  “I’m not running,” I snap before taking a measured breath. “I’m just not interested.”

  He leans against the car, crosses his arms, and stares at me with a raised brow. Asshole. Determined to prove…something, I crowd him, and before I can stop myself, I crash my lips against his. My fingers spear through his hair, clutching him to me. His hands circle my waist and he pulls me into the cradle of his hips. The heat off the iron hard length of his cock burns through my clothes.

  Our tongues clash, dueling and tangling, neither of us giving an inch. I lean further into him, unable to stop myself from rubbing my pelvis against his. The pressure and friction is driving me wild. Nathan’s hair is soft beneath my fingertips, which is in complete contrast to the hardness everywhere else. His chest that beats like a drum beneath mine.

  “Lucia,” he murmurs against my lips.

  I don’t heed the warning in his voice. I’m too far gone. I blindly reach for the door handle, fumbling with it, refusing to stop the kiss that is far more than just any kiss, until at last, it gives and the door pops open. With a less than gentle shove, I push Nathan into the backseat, climb in after him, and barely manage to close us inside before my mouth is once again on his.

  Neither of us stop. He yanks my shirt up and over my head while I reach for the button of his jeans. His hands are hard at work ripping at my pants and tugging them down. After a few contortionist moves, I’m naked from the waist down and straddling him.

  “Condom,” I manage to gasp between kisses.

  Nathan shifts to one side, nearly unseating me, and pulls his wallet out, along with a small, foil square. I snatch it from his hands, tear it open, and seconds later, roll it down his thick length. God, I can’t wait to feel that inside me. I don’t have to wait long, either, because he grips my hips tight and helps raise me up. Then I’m slowly sinking down, taking him deep inside. I gasp at how full I am. A part of me mourns the fact that this is a one and done deal.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” Nathan rasps.

  “No talking,” I growl. “Just fucking.”

  He smirks, but does just that. We move together, me over him with my legs on either side of his hips, while his fingers clench my thighs, grinding me against him. I ride him hard, not caring about the marks that will probably decorate my skin from Nathan’s tight grip. In fact, I want the bruises as a reminder of our time together, because this can’t last.

  I lean over him, almost pushing my lace-covered breasts into his face. His tongue latches around one of my nipples, sucking and pulling it into his mouth. I gasp and my fingers cradle his head holding him close. Wet, slapping flesh echoes around us, mixing with our breathing and the occasional groan that comes from both of us as Nathan hits the right spot inside me.

  Far too quickly, the tide of my orgasm washes over me. My pussy clenches on his cock, milking his release. I cry out and collapse against him, my hair providing a curtain around us. My chest rises and falls as I try to suck in air, until my breathing slows to normal. His body heat warms my nakedness against the winter chill that is seeping into the vehicle.

  With time, reality comes crashing into me. What have I done? I move to slide off Nathan’s lap. His grip tightens, and I fight against it, pushing harder for him to release me. He lets out a heavy sigh and loosens his hold. Without looking at him, I search for my clothes in the tight confines of a space that is closing even further in on me.

  Keeping my hands from trembling as best I can, I shimmy into my jeans and throw my shirt back on. I grab my coat and slip into that as well.

  “Lucia,” Nathan says quietly, but I ignore him.

  I open the door and my hand slides across the moisture clinging to the inside of the window. Behind me, he sighs again and there’s the sound of him dressing. Still trying to rein in my panic, I jerk open the driver’s side door and search for the trunk release. It takes a second before I find it. I pull the lever and the trunk pops open.

  Nathan exits the vehicle. The intensity of his gaze bores into me. I straighten my shirt and grab my suitcases. He moves to help, but I send him a cutting glare and he backs away with his hands up. This was a mistake. I pray that despite Rory and Jack getting together, I’ll never see Nathan again.

  Without a word or another glance, I walk away.

  I straighten, shaking off the remnants of a memory I’ve played over and over again. Finally, I can’t take it any longer. My feet slowly carry me down the hall, my vision tunneled to focus on nothing but that open door. I pause outside of it, as though my legs are far too heavy to take another step.

  I take a deep inhale, straighten my shoulders, and force myself to move. Closer I creep to where those three innocuous sticks rest. My gaze lands on the first. The breath leaves me on a shaky sob. By the time I’ve laid eyes on the third stick, tears have blurred my vision. Not that it matters. I don’t need to see what I’ve already seen two times before.

  My back hits the wall and I slide down it until my butt crashes onto the floor. I pull my knees to my chest and sob against them, my tears soaking the denim. How could I have let this happen? I’ve always been so careful. I was careful this time, too. Pill. Condom. This shouldn’t be happening. It is, though.

  Once I’ve shed all the tears I’m going to for the moment, I climb to my feet and toss the evidence in the trash. What am I going to do? There’s a part of me that wants to head straight to the NHS. But a larger part of me is horrified that I could even consider that option. Adoption is out as well. There’s no way I could give up a baby to someone else.

  Jesus, what am I thinking? I can’t have a baby. I’m at the prime of my career. Working toward a promotion. I’m also alone. There’s always Nathan. In a second, I discard that idea for so many reasons. Not the least of which is that I swore I would never bring a child into the syndicate. Not after Michele. My fingers go to my locket. The one he gave me with a promise of love.

  Fuck. I can’t tell Nathan.

  I can’t tell anyone.

  Chapter 4

  Present Day

  Nathan

  * * *

  I grab my car keys off the hall table and head toward the front door of the brownstone I used to share with my brothers.