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“It won’t take long, baby. I promise. And after that, we’ll eat breakfast and I’ll give you a tour of the house.”

She slides her arms around my neck. “I can’t wait,” she says, rising on tiptoe and pressing a lingering kiss to my lips.

I deepen the kiss, taking my time to savor her lips, feeling the need to make up for a lot of things. Then I gently release her, giving her a warm smile. “Later,” I say, then I head out of the room, taking the image of her beautiful, smiling face with me.

As I reach the ground floor, I make a beeline for the kitchen, going straight to the coffee machine. Bella’s revelation makes me crave something strong. I pour the ground coffee beans into the machine and set it running. In a few minutes, I have a mug of steaming hot coffee in hand as I look out through the full-length window that looks out over my very large, private back yard. I take a sip of the black coffee, savoring the punch in my throat as I take in the view.

My mind travels back to Bella, and one question rises in my thoughts. Would I still have taken her if I knew she was Warren’s daughter? And the answer is yes. I’m sane enough to know that my attraction to her is magnetic. Something I’ve never experienced with any woman. She brings out a side of me that I didn’t think existed, and there’s no doubt that I’m falling in love with her.

And now, I’m lying to her about knowing her father. A man I considered my friend for most of my life. I should have just come clean, but for some reason the words didn’t come out.

It feels taboo, knowing I’m sleeping with my friend’s daughter. If Warren was alive, I don’t think he would approve. He’d think I’m too old for her, and he never really condoned my shadier dealings. But I know I would still have met her sooner or later, and the pull between us would be just as undeniable.

I’m not going to lie to her forever, but right now, I need to get used to the fact that I might have betrayed my friend.

I remember Bella’s suspicion about her father’s death. I’ve had the same suspicions ever since I heard of Warren’s suicide, but with her information about the intruder and the access card, I know his death is even more suspicious than I imagined it to be. I’ve been dealing in stolen art for a long time, and I’ve been attending the auctions at the chapel for as long as that, and I’ve never come across Warren there. Which is why I told Bella that I’d be hiring a PI.

The only person I can think of who can do a thorough enough job is Damien Hart. He has ties in the underworld criminal organization just as I do, and also works for some of the most powerful people in the city. I wouldn’t consider us to be close friends, but I’ve met him on multiple occasions and I know he’s a cold bastard with a code of honor.

I take another gulp of coffee, feeling the warmth as it travels down my throat, and then I head toward the left corner of the house where my home office is situated. Once inside the office, I dial Damien’s number, and he answers the call on the first ring.

“It’s Roman West,” I say, knowing he isn’t one for small talk.

“Oh, Roman. What can I do for you?” he asks.

I recline deeper in my seat, looking at the artwork on the walls, some of which is Warren’s. “I want to hire you for a job. It’s about the death of Warren Flint,” I say, then go ahead to explain the circumstances around his death and my and Bella’s suspicions.

“Do you have any leads?” Damien asks.

I pause, trying to piece my theory together. “I’m going to be straightforward and say that he was murdered. First, I find it fishy that he had an access card to the chapel, especially when I know that he never dealt in stolen artifacts. Any art he owned was bought legally, which leads me to believe that he got the access card for something else. Another thing I find suspicious is the fact that only one of his pieces is missing, which leads me to believe it contains some sort of evidence that someone doesn’t want to be found.”

“Okay, I’ll investigate further. I’ll find a way to get the police report on the crime scene and death. But, you have to understand that it may just be an accident or suicide as reported. We can’t rule that out yet,” Damien states, his tone brusque and succinct.

“Understood.”

“I would like to see the access card, and also need access to the house that was broken into to check for fingerprints and more evidence,” he says.

“No problem, I’ll arrange for everything.”

“Good. I’ll get back to you once I have something.”

“Alright,” I reply, ending the call.

Damien’s warning replays in my mind. Could Warren’s death truly be an accident? I shake my head in denial. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he might have truly wanted to kill himself. It just doesn’t add up with my knowledge of him.

I exhale softly. Right now, there’s nothing much I can do but wait for Damien’s verdict. With that thought, I push back my seat, rising to my feet.

Bella should be done with her bath. A fond smile pulls at my lips at the thought of her. At forty, I had given up on the thought of falling in love, least of all with a woman half my age. I didn’t think I had the emotional capacity.

I always believed people like me didn’t get to have happily ever afters. That I didn’t deserve forever, given my background and profession. But having Bella around has proven to me that I have the capacity to feel strongly for another human, and also to be the object of happiness for someone else.

Now that I have her, I intend to keep her. With that thought, I walk out of the office, eager to be in her presence again. As I enter the living room, I hear a humming sound and trace it to the kitchen to find Bella, wearing nothing but my shirt, dancing to a throaty tune while stirring something in the pan in front of her. I relax and rest my shoulder against the doorframe, watching her with a smile on my face.

“I thought I would order breakfast—I didn’t think I’d find you in here putting on the best show ever,” I finally say after a few minutes.

She snaps her head up, blushing profusely. “How long have you been standing there?” she asks with a shy smile.

My smile widens and I straighten, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Long enough to know that you dance well,” I reply, walking deeper into the kitchen until I’m standing by her side.