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Compared to the old van den Linden, it feels laughable and privileged to complain about a father figure in my life. “Yes, I guess he was a good father. I was always a cocky bastard, and everything came to me with ease. I didn’t want to apply myself too much—only interested in fun and breathing through life just below the surface.

“But he saw more in me, and he challenged me to start something that was mine. Merged is the result. His illness was progressing quickly, and I just wanted to make him proud. And he was. But for some reason, he decided to leave me a letter in his will. Telling me how proud he was to be my father, even though he didn’t sire me.”

I close my eyes again, as if the truth was easier in the darkness.

“Maybe he just felt like he lied to you all his life. It may feel like a selfish act of atonement. But perhaps it’s simpler. Maybe he believed you deserved the truth.”

“But what good is the truth for? I’m just so fucking mad at him. With the fucking letter, he robbed me of the opportunity to grieve. And I’m mad at her. Along with Declan, they were my people. And now…” I shake my head.

“They are still your people. That letter doesn’t erase all the memories you have with him. Your mom misses you. She doesn’t deserve this either. And whatever his intention was, I’m sure he didn’t plan for you to abandon your mom. To break your family.”

“Well, that’s exactly what he did.”

“Don’t let him.”

I snap my gaze to her, and her peaceful beauty hits me right in my chest. I want to argue her point, but she’s right. Also, how am I going to argue—with a woman whose parents abandoned her—that my loving parents don’t deserve my company or affection? Fuck.

“Okay, let’s move away from this heavy portion of the night,” I grumble.

She chuckles and stands up again. I was hoping the next point on the agenda would be in this bed.

When I suggested—okay, demanded—we explore this thing between us, I wasn’t expecting digging into wounds. Or helping them heal. Fuck. I’m really out of my depth here.

In a cowardly effort to move the attention away from me, I switch the topic. “When are you going to take Nora Flemming’s offer?”

“The question isif, notwhen. And the answer is, I don’t know yet.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you should explore the opportunity. She knows what she sees in you. I agree with her. The only person to embrace your own potential is you.”

She saunters to the bar cart and pops open a bag of nuts, ignoring the conversation. I guess she isn’t ready. “Do you want anything?”

Shit. “When was the last time you ate?”

She chuckles. “I’m okay.” She peruses the room again, my shirt hiding and showing parts of her, taunting me.

She opens a drawer, and since I know what’s there, my cock springs to applaud her immediately.

“Oh.” She utters a curious sound and retrieves a pair of handcuffs, turning to me with heat in her eyes.

I crook my finger and beckon her to me, the arousal replacing all the heaviness of our previous conversation.

Ironically, the intimacy is the same—just its expression is different. This time more carnal. I’m all for that, way more eager than I was with sharing words.

She lets the handcuffs dangle from her raised hand, her eyes darting between them and me.

“Saar,” I warn. “Come here.”

She wets her lips in slow motion, the little tease. “Make me.”

Fucking brat. Within seconds I’m on my feet, and before she even decides where to run, I pounce.

I whip her around and twist her arm against her back. Both my arms imprison her against my chest. She makes a sound that is a groan and a laugh while pushing her ass against me. My cock twitches, but I don’t let her distract me.

In one quick move, I grip her other hand and click the cuffs locked, binding her wrists behind her back.

“Hey,” she protests, wriggling and thrashing as if that would make me stop. It only makes me want her more. To tease her more. Torment her more.

I yank her close to me and thrust my hips forward, so she feels the effect she has on me. Holding her tight, I lower my head to her ear.