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The second these words leave my mouth, I see his walls going back up. They form a barricade around him until I can't reach him anymore. He's completely distant again.

"I just think the kids could benefit from some therapy," I say. "The worst thing that could happen to a kid has happened to them. They lost their parents. I know what that's like, and I think having someone they can talk to about this kind of stuff would really benefit them."

"You're crossing the line again, Miss Turner," he says. "Do you really think that I haven't tried providing therapy for the kids?"

My cheeks flush with heat. "Um, no, I just noticed it wasn't listed on their schedule."

"That's because they refuse to speak with anyone about what happened," he says.

"Have you tried speaking to them?" I ask gently.

"Please just stick to doing your job," he snaps. "I'm not really asking for much here."

His sharp words cut me into ribbons. My cheeks are burning now.

"And if that's too hard for you, feel free to leave," he says. "The kids are fond of you, but you're still very replaceable."

My initial instinct is to say something harsh back. But I've caught a glimpse of the man he is on the inside. He's rude and arrogant, but he's also a little broken.

It wasn't just the kids who lost their mother. Klaus Sinclair lost his little sister, too.

"I'm sorry if I crossed the line," I say, lowering my gaze.

He opens the car door. Before he leaves, he turns his head toward me.

"Four p.m.," he says. "I'll pick you and the kids up from the mansion."

"Okay." I swallow.

He slams the door shut behind him. I watch as he walks toward another car parked ahead—a sleek black Lamborghini. This time, he gets into the driver's seat.

The sports car purrs to life as he pulls out of the driveway.

He's gone, but his presence lingers.

It stays with me as I go about my day. His words still echo in my ears. His cologne still fills the corners of my lungs. His hard stare remains burned in the back of my brain.

Deep in my bones, I already know.

I'll never be the same again.

12

KLAUS

Idon't care about women.

I don't let them into my life. I don't spare them a second thought. And I sure as hell don't think about them when I'm supposed to be working.

But ever since Emma Turner walked into my life, I haven't gotten any work done.

I touched her today.

Voluntarily.

I haven't touchedanyonesince the war, but I touched her. The physical contact didn't make bile rise up my throat. It didn't fill my head with war and pain. For some strange reason, it felt...natural.

She awakened the primal side of me, but otherwise, the interaction felt sonormal.